


Heavy is the Burden

by fayth (zanarkand)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Broken Bones, Concussions, Falling From a Great Height, Fever, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Descriptions of Injuries, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Infection, Injury, Memory Loss, Poor Noct, This isn't how GPS works, Unconsciousness, Vomiting, Whump, brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-01-24 00:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanarkand/pseuds/fayth
Summary: A scream tears from his throat as he plummetsthroughthe floor, right through decaying wood and the cheap peeling plaster of the ceiling, wind whistling rapidly past his ears, eyes wide open in shock as he twists desperately, hands clawing about in the air, wanting some way to stop his descent. There's no time for a second scream as the floor of the previous story rushes up far too fast, and it's only after he's gone through it, body scraping painfully on broken boards, arm catching briefly and ripping open skin, that he registers he's gone right through a hole in that floor, falling further down to the story below.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It took me longer than I like, but I'm finally back with a new hurt!Noct fic. This is the first fic for my [Bad Things Happen](https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/) [Bingo Card](http://fayth.altervista.org/noesis/badthingshappenedit.png), for the prompt "Falling from a Great Height."
> 
> This is set some time shortly after Ignis' Brotherhood episode, so it builds a little off that. I also did a decent amount of research for this fic, and then chose to handwave half of it for the sake of the whump. Forgive me. And grateful shoutouts to [oyakodon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyakodon), [squeem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeemu/), Alyssa, my irl best friend, and my brother, all of whom helped me and/or encouraged me with this fic in some way! My brother especially, who is an EMT and gave me a ton of useful information about procedures and injuries that I then chose to ignore most of. Sorry, dude.
> 
> I'm just kidding, this fic isn't _that_ inaccurate. Anyways, I already have this finished, and it stands at 45.8K which is split up into eight chapters. For now, I'm going with a posting schedule of once a week, with new chapters going up on ~~Mondays~~ Saturdays.

"Hey, wanna go to the arcade today?" Prompto slings a friendly arm around Noct as he asks the question, a bright grin across his face as he waits hopefully for the answer.

Noct hesitates. There's a report still waiting for him on the counter at home, courtesy of Ignis, and he'll have homework to do too. But he hasn't been to the arcade in nearly two weeks now, and the promise of brightly glowing machines and tinny 16-bit tunes echoing throughout the dimly lit building fills him with yearning. "Yeah," he says, ignoring the twinge of guilt he feels. "Let's go." 

Ignis waits for him in the same spot every day, so it's easy enough to leave the school from a side exit and slip past him without ever being noticed. They run down the sidewalk towards freedom, laughing as they dodge around other students. Ignis would frown and lecture him on his un-princely behaviour if he saw it, but Noct doesn't care. He's not feeling particularly princely at the moment. 

And things have still been a little weird between them lately. They'd sort of made up with Ignis' latest attempt at the Tenebraen pastries that was his peace offering a few weeks ago, but once Noct had forgiven him, he'd taken that as his cue to try and push even more responsibility on Noct, and Noct doesn't like it. He knows he'll have to learn how to run a kingdom and be king someday, but why now? Why all the time? Why can't Ignis just let him have these moments of freedom with Prompto, while he still has the _chance_ to? 

Instead Ignis keeps shoving dry, dull reports at him so he can drill him on current political situations afterwards, and harps non-stop at him until he goes to his training with Gladio, and nags at him to be more responsible in taking care of his apartment. Noct's _sick_ of it all. He's _trying_ , but sometimes it's too much. Sometimes he can't think about it. Because he can't handle it, and feels he'll break down if he has to face any of it, so then it's either stay in his apartment and burrow under his covers while feeling sorry for himself, or go out with Prompto and create a distraction from his thoughts. 

So maybe he feels guilty for ditching Ignis now, but with all that in mind, it's easy enough to push it away and follow his best friend into the arcade, where he can let himself be lured into a false happiness shooting at pixellated monsters and shouting in triumph with Prompto. It's easy enough to ignore his phone when it chimes with several texts, and easier still to hit ignore and silence it when it starts trilling with his ringtone. He knows Ignis won't be worried, merely annoyed. This isn't the first time he's ditched Ignis and it won't be the last. 

"You need to answer that?" Prompto asks around a mouthful of pizza as Noct's phone vibrates across the table. 

Noct shakes his head, watching in awe as Prompto devours his slice in just a couple more bites. "Nah, it's Ignis. He'll figure out where I am." 

Prompto raises his eyebrows, wiping the grease from his fingers. "Won't he be mad?" 

Shrugging, Noct pockets his phone and stands, ready to get back to the games. "No big deal. Come on, I wanna check out the new L'il Malbuddy spin-off game." 

"You got it!" Prompto jumps up, disposing of his trash before rushing over to one of the games. 

By the time Noct lets himself into his apartment a few hours later, Ignis has given up on him. He's come and gone from the apartment, having done his usual tidying of the messes in the kitchen Noct doesn't mean to leave, but somehow always does. There's a plate of food waiting for him on the table, covered to keep the warmth in, and that alone would almost be enough to make Noct's guilt come back, but the report he's been neglecting the past two weeks laid out in a very obvious manner by the plate is what seals the deal. 

He grabs the food and carries it over to the couch, leaving the report on the table so he doesn't have to face his guilt, and goes through his missed texts while he eats. 

_Did you stay after? You failed to mention any such need this morning._

_How much longer do you intend to be?_

_Have you left the school?_

_Please answer your phone._

_Are you unable to answer or simply ignoring me?_

_I suppose you've gone to the arcade with Prompto again. I must say, this is getting rather old, Your Highness._

Noct sighs, unable to ignore his guilt any longer. He doesn't mean to make Ignis' life difficult. But... he's not ready for all this responsibility. It's too much weight on his shoulders, and he feels like he's being crushed under it. Every time he thinks about all that he'll have to do someday, all that he still has to learn, his chest gets tight and he can't breathe. Worse is knowing that when he _does_ become king, it means his dad will be gone, and he still doesn't want to face that. 

But not facing it makes him feel like a failure. He's a massive disappointment to everyone, and it makes him ashamed. Ignis is trying so hard to help him become the great king he believes Noct's meant to be someday, but Noct's fighting him at every step of the way, even if half of it's unintentional, and it leaves him looking like a sullen, ungrateful brat. 

It's _embarrassing_ , but Noct _can't_ make himself do any better. Too many times he goes to do something and he just... freezes. His body gets paralysed, rigid at the thought of getting up and doing whatever thing it needs to, and he doesn't relax until he gives up and decides to play video games, or browse on his phone, or do something else equally unimportant. Maybe it's his fault for not saying anything, but he wants Ignis to instinctively understand the problem and not press him so hard when he can't bring himself to do whatever he's supposed to. 

Sighing, he sets his now empty plate down on the coffee table—he should get up, carry it to the kitchen, at least rinse it if he's not going to wash it, but his body refuses to leave the couch—and curls up on the cushions, closing his eyes as a yawn escapes him. He's got a ton of homework, and he should definitely at least try to skim that report, but he feels apathetic to it all right now, and it makes him sleepy. A quick nap won't hurt. He'll still have a few hours later, and the sleep will refresh him. Ignis would lecture him about avoiding things and ruining his sleep schedule, but Ignis isn't here to tell him what to do. 

Just a nap, and then he'll do his homework and the report. Really. 

* * *

"Highness," Ignis says, stern disapproval in his tone. 

Noct yawns, lolling his head as he blinks his eyes open, vision blurring as he tries to focus on Ignis standing over him. He wipes the sleep from his eyes, sitting up slowly. Soft sunlight's peeking in between the shuttered blinds on the windows, letting him know it's early morning. He mumbles something that isn't really a word, but could be understood for one, if anyone listened close enough. 

"Yes, it is morning," Ignis says, his tone frosting even further as he frowns down at Noct, displeased judgement written all over his face. "I see you've once again neglected the report I set out for you. Though I suppose it's not surprising, given your inconsiderate behaviour yesterday afternoon. If you are going to keep shirking your responsibilities to sneak off with Prompto, please do me the courtesy of at least texting to inform me, so that I do not waste my time." 

"Sorry," Noct mutters, running a hand through sleep-mussed hair. It's greasy from the hair gel, and he makes a face. He needs a shower, and fresh gel. "Accidentally fell asleep." He doesn't offer an excuse for running off to the arcade without a word. They both know he'll do it again, and it seems insulting to pretend otherwise. 

Ignis sighs, weary and resigned. "Go shower," he says. "I'll start breakfast. We need to leave in two hours. That will give you enough time to attempt some of that homework I'm certain you also neglected." 

Noct groans, but obediently slides off the couch, heading to his room for fresh clothes before ducking into the bathroom. When he gets out, he feels cleaner, but no less stressed. He doesn't want to deal with Ignis today. He eats his breakfast quietly, hunched over the table, trying to shield himself in advance for the longer lecture he knows is coming. 

"Homework," Ignis says when he finishes, taking his plate over to the sink to wash. 

Noct scrunches his nose up, not really the seeing the point in trying when he _knows_ there's not enough time to finish it, but Ignis is irritable and upset with him, and he's not in the mood for an argument. He retrieves his school things from where he'd dropped them in the entryway, pulling out his history text. He has to write a brief essay on the annexing of Accordo to Niflheim, and that's the most important assignment right now. 

An hour later, he's got a passable essay and even one other shorter assignment finished, and he climbs into the car as Ignis starts the engine, pulling out his phone in hopes of discouraging the imminent lecture. It's a futile effort, and Ignis is speaking up as soon as they're on the road. 

"You can't keep doing this, Noct." 

Noct. A personal lecture, then. "Doing what?" he asks, just to be difficult. If he's difficult enough, Ignis might give up on the conversation. 

"I know it isn't easy to think of what the future holds, and of what becoming king means. But avoiding it won't halt it, and will get you nowhere. Would you not rather be prepared for it, than to be caught unaware and have to learn everything while you are in the middle of it?" 

Ignis pauses, wanting an answer, but Noct says nothing, lowering his phone to his lap as he stares out the window at the passing scenery instead. He knows Ignis has a point, it's going to be much harder to learn to be king if he has to also be... if he has to deal with his dad being... Even in his own head, he doesn't want to think it. 

They stop at a light, and Ignis sighs. "Certainly no one expects you to be perfect, Noct. And I know His Majesty wishes for you to take time to yourself to have fun while you can and do the things you enjoy. But that does not mean he does not also expect you to attend to your responsibilities as the Crown Prince." 

"I'm _trying_ ," Noct snaps. 

"Not as much as you should be, I fear," Ignis says quietly as he moves the car forward again. "I'm aware you wish I would 'get off your back' about this, but I am worried for you. I don't want this to come back and bite you in the future. It's not healthy to be so avoidant." 

Noct bristles. "I'm fine. Leave me alone, Specs. I'll read the report tonight." 

Ignis purses his lips. "It's not only about the report," he says, but they pull up to the school, and Noct throws open the door before Ignis barely has a chance to stop, eager to get out of the car and away from whatever else Ignis has to say. 

"Pick me up after school," Noct orders. "I'll be here this time." 

For a moment Ignis looks as if he won't let things go, but then he sighs, giving Noct a nod. "Very well." 

Noct doesn't bother to give him a goodbye. 

* * *

After dropping Noct off, Ignis drives back to the building and lets himself into the empty apartment with a sigh. He loves Noct dearly, but he's become rather difficult to deal with these last months, and it's turned wearying. Ignis knows he carries a heavy burden on his shoulders, and he's certainly sympathetic to it—too sympathetic, to listen to Gladio tell it—but lately Noct has been slacking off far more than he used to, and there's only so much Ignis can let him get away with. 

If it were merely one thing here and there, it would be much simpler. A forgotten report from time to time, missing an occasional training practice with Gladio, a mess in the apartment left overnight once in awhile—even skipping a Council meeting once or twice would be acceptable, though his presence already isn't required at the majority of them. But everything combined, and all quite frequently—when even His Majesty starts frowning over his son's behaviour, Ignis has little choice in nagging him, as much as Noct dislikes it. 

Frowning, Ignis stands in the doorway of Noct's bedroom, viewing it with resignation. He had cleaned it for Noct on Sunday—three days ago. It's already a disaster again, and Noct had looked to have fallen asleep on his sofa last night. Ignis can't fathom how in the world Noct could make so much of a mess in only two evenings. 

Gladio would tell him not to clean it. " _Kid made the mess, let him live in his own filth 'til he gets off his lazy ass and cleans it_ ," he would say. " _You're too soft, Iggy_." Ignis knows his exact words because he's heard them several times already. And it's certainly tempting, and perhaps he _is_ somewhat soft, but Ignis can't bring himself to let Noct live like this. It's not about appearances, or going easy on him, or trying to teach Noct how a clean room _should_ look—the mess simply bothers _Ignis_ too much to let it stand. 

With another sigh, he steps into the room and begins tackling the clothes strewn about the room. They're clean, the same ones Ignis had left folded at the end of his bed Sunday evening in hopes that Noct would take some autonomy in cleaning after himself, and it makes his temper spike that Noct would simply toss them back off instead of taking the few minutes required to put them in their proper place. 

Half an hour later, he's satisfied with the state of Noct's room and turns his attention towards the bathroom. It's equally as disastrous, despite having been equally cleaned on Sunday. Noct's left his towels from the last three days in a damp, mildewing pile on the floor, along with his dirty clothes. There's clumps of drying toothpaste in the sink, along with all the tiny hairs from shaving off the beginnings of a beard puberty has cursed him with. His hair care products are scattered about the sink, half the caps left off. 

It's enough to inspire another lecture, but Ignis is growing just as weary of those as Noct is. There seems to be little point—they go in one ear and out the other. And Noct _does_ make efforts at time, Ignis knows that. He simply wishes Noct would make a little _more_ effort. 

An hour and a half later, he's climbing into his car, leaving Noct's apartment behind for the Citadel. There will be visiting dignitaries from Accordo this weekend, and there have been endless meetings about it the past two months. While Noct's presence isn't overly important, or even truly necessary, His Majesty still expects him to attend, and so Ignis has made it a point to be at every meeting, to keep abreast of developments and gather enough information to know what is expected of Noct, as well as preventing him from embarrassing himself. The report Noct has neglected the past two weeks is a culmination of much of that information, facts and tidbits about both Accordo and their visitors, so Noct can carry on a cultured conversation should the need arise. 

It's frustrating beyond belief that Noct has yet to read it. Ignis has no way to truly force him, but time is running out, and it will reflect poorly not only on Noct if he makes a social blunder, but on Ignis as well. It is his job to make sure that Noct is properly raised and educated, and people will blame Ignis moreso than Noct himself, if Noct were to make any mistakes. He's not certain Noct realises that. Nor is he certain he wants to know whether Noct realises, because he doesn't want to think that Noct _does_ and simply doesn't care enough. 

By the end of the meeting a few hours later, Ignis has a splitting headache, and wishes dearly he could go back to his apartment and lay down for an hour or two, but unfortunately he has a meeting with the marshal and Gladio in twenty minutes to go over the security detail being put in place specifically for Noct during the banquet and party afterwards on Friday evening, the first night their guests will be in Insomnia. So instead he pops two painkillers and heads over, and when that meeting is done an hour later, it's time to pick up Noct from school. 

Ignis waits impatiently by the car, glancing around every couple of minutes and hoping despite his words that Noct hasn't decided to shirk off and go to the arcade with Prompto again. Thankfully Noct's soon approaching the car, climbing in the passenger side once Ignis opens the door for him. Ignis waits until he's settled to shut the door and then resume his own place in the driver's seat. 

"Broke my phone," Noct says without preamble as soon as Ignis starts the engine. 

Ignis feels his head throb, the painkillers useless, and has to suppress a sigh and count to five before he can bring himself to speak without a lecture. "May I ask how?" he says, and though the words are polite enough, he can't temper his clipped, aggravated tone. 

"Uh—" Out of the corner of his eye, Ignis catches Noct ducking his head down, staring at his lap. "Dropped it off the roof," he mumbles. 

It's a _very_ hard urge to fight against, but somehow Ignis keeps himself from slamming his forehead down against the steering wheel out of sheer frustration. He isn't going to bother to ask how that particular situation came about. The answer will be ridiculous no matter what, and no doubt involve Prompto in some way. He slows to a stop at a sign, glancing in all directions for other cars before going again. It's enough of a moment to keep his next words from sounding too upset. "Am I to assume it's beyond repair, then?" 

"Uh," Noct repeats. "Yeah, I—I think so. Screen's totally shattered and it won't turn on." 

He gives up trying to hold back his sigh, and makes a left turn at the light instead of his usual right, heading opposite the direction of Noct's apartment. "Nothing for it, then," he says, more to himself than Noct. 

"Specs?" Noct says, the confusion evident in his voice. He twists in his seat, turning his head to look back at the turn they usually make. "Shouldn't we—" 

"You need a new phone, do you not?" 

"Yeah, I just—thanks, Specs." 

It doesn't take long for Noct to pick out a new phone—money is no obstacle, of course, so it's simply a matter of picking the one with the best specifications and most useful features. They set it up at his apartment afterwards, adding in all of his contacts again and installing the various necessary apps and accounts he'll need. He holds it out to Ignis once he's done, and Ignis furrows his brow at him, not taking it. 

"Don't the Crownsguard have to secure it and set up tracking or whatever they usually do?" Noct asks him, holding the phone out further. 

Ignis shakes his head at him, standing up from the sofa and making his way to the kitchen area. It's nearly dinner time, and though his head's still pounding, making him long for his own relaxing apartment, he can at least whip up something quick for Noct before he takes his leave. "Normally, yes, but they have their hands full dealing with all the security detail for this weekend. They won't have time for anything else until next week, and you will need a phone in the meantime." 

"Oh," Noct says quietly, and Ignis hears the clatter of his new case as Noct sets the phone on the coffee table. 

"Speaking of this weekend," Ignis starts, but gets no further as a loud groan comes from Noct, sending another pulse of pain across his forehead as irritation rises again. Why can Noct not seem to understand how important this is? "Your Highness, your presence at the banquet is required and it will reflect poorly on both of us if you are not able to carry on a conversation with our guests. It is imperative you read that report tonight." 

"I know, I know," Noct grumbles. "I said I would. Lay off, Specs." 

"There is time now," Ignis points out as he begins chopping up some raw chickatrice. Stir fry—it's quick and simple, and he can return to his own apartment, and more importantly, his _bed_ , that much sooner. 

"Nah," Noct says, his voice far too casual and unconcerned for Ignis' liking. "Got homework first." 

Well. Homework _is_ important too, and Noct has all night, so Ignis bites his tongue. As long as Noct reads through the information some time tonight, Ignis has no reason to complain. 

* * *

Noct doesn't read through the report. He'd told Ignis he would, he tells _himself_ he will, but Prompto texts him crowing in excitement about a new game he's got, and the conversation is far more appealing than reading through a dry report on Accordo and the stuffy old men from there that are going to be visiting the kingdom. 

_Tomorrow morning_ , he tells himself as he crawls into bed, having said good night to Prompto. _I'll get up early and read it._

He doesn't, though. He sleeps through his alarm, and by the time he drags himself out of bed, Ignis is in the kitchen, finishing up breakfast. 

"Good morning," Ignis greets him, setting a plate down on the table as he shuffles over to it. Guilt keeps him from returning the greeting properly, knowing Ignis is going to be upset that he's neglected the report yet again. It _is_ important, Noct knows that—Lucis has been trying to rebuild relations with Accordo ever since his dad's dad was still ruling the kingdom, and this visit apparently also involves hammering out some new trade agreements—but even though he cares, he still feels paralysed by the thought of it. 

It's not just the thought of what being king will mean in terms of his dad's fate, but also that he's expected to learn all this stuff, that someday it will be him ruling the kingdom and building relations with allies and entertaining visiting dignitaries, making trade agreements and probably still waging war against Niflheim... it's so much to learn, and worse, it requires so many things that Noct just doesn't feel good at. He's too awkward around people, terrible at making small talk or knowing the right things to say, lacking in any charm or smooth social skills... he has to live up to his dad and he doesn't know if he can and the fear of that failure is too heavy. 

Frowning, he tries to shove the upsetting thoughts out of his mind and focus on breakfast instead. Ignis doesn't remark on the unread report while he eats, though he must know Noct hasn't touched it—it's still sitting exactly where it was two nights ago, where Ignis had left it arranged on the table. 

In fact, Ignis keeps quiet the entire rest of the time Noct's getting ready, and when he does speak up, once they're in the car, he says nothing about the report at all. "We're due to pick up your suit for tomorrow's banquet this afternoon. The tailor wishes for you to try it on one last time and make sure no last-minute adjustments are needed." 

"Yeah, okay," Noct responds after an uncertain pause. Should he say something himself? Is Ignis so mad he can't even bring himself to lecture right now? "Uh, about the report—" 

"Do as you wish," Ignis says, and yeah, there's definitely a hint of coldness to his tone. Noct winces to hear it. "It has become increasingly clear to me that my words simply fall on deaf ears; I would prefer to save my breath. Make a fool out of us both if you prefer, there is nothing more I can do." 

"I swear I'll read it tonight," Noct promises quietly, shame making him duck his head. He doesn't know what's wrong with him, why he can't just pick up a few damn papers and read through them. 

"Do as you wish," Ignis repeats, and Noct bites at his lip and says nothing else the rest of the ride. 

* * *

Noct doesn't read the report that night either, and he hates himself for it. 

* * *

He's excused from school Friday. The banquet isn't until that evening, but there's a lot to do in preparation, and Noct's meant to be at the Citadel by noon to start getting ready. He wakes up at eight, and sends a text to Ignis, letting him know he doesn't need him to come over—he doesn't want to face Ignis' wrath at _still_ not having read the report yet. 

_Don't oversleep, Your Highness_ , Ignis sends back, and Noct rolls his eyes at it. 

He goes back to sleep for a couple of hours, and then forces himself out of bed, reluctant to leave the comfortable warmth of his blankets. After his shower, he heads to the kitchen, hoping he can finally manage to tackle the report. It won't be the detailed study he should have given it, but reading it this close to the dinner means that most of it will at least hopefully remain fresh in his mind. 

Only, when he grabs it and carries it over to the couch, he can't bring himself to focus on it. He tries, but his thoughts keep wandering and he realises a few sentences later he hasn't retained a single bit of information from the words he's just read. After several attempts, he tries to just skim through it, and when even that doesn't work, he gives up and sets the papers down on the coffee table. 

He doesn't want to go to this banquet. His presence is required, but it isn't as if he's _really_ needed. He's not the one trying to build alliances, he has no part in the proceedings, he isn't expected to make any speeches... he's only going to be there because he's royalty, and it would look odd for him to be absent. And the thought of sitting there for hours, eating food— _vegetables_ —he hates and trying to pretend he's not disgusted by it, all while trying to make small talk with whatever Important Person he's stuck next to, having to listen to his dad wax poetic about Accordo and their guests... 

He sits there on the couch staring at the unread report for some time, and then pulls his phone from his pocket, sending another text to Ignis. 

_Don't need to pick me up. I'll walk. Gonna leave soon._

_Very well. Don't be late._

_See you soon._

But when it comes time to head to the Citadel, Noct can't bring himself to go. Instead, he stands outside the entrance to his building for a few moments, indecision staying him, a tight knot of anxiety building in his stomach, until he finally turns the other direction, away from the Citadel, and begins making his way to Prompto's. Noct knows he's not at school today either, because he'd texted earlier complaining about a mild cold. 

When he gets there, his best friend lets him in with a confused look, wrinkling his face up as he clearly tries to decide whether to say anything. Noct saves him the trouble. "I can't go," he says, and is horrified to feel the burning in his eyes that tells him tears are imminent. 

"Can't go?" 

Noct follows him into the living room, settling himself down in Mr. Argentum's armchair, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. He is _not_ going to cry in front of Prompto. "Can we just play video games or something?" he asks quietly, hoping he doesn't sound as desperate as he feels. The feelings of failure and shame are washing over him again, along with the heavy guilt for knowing that he's a huge disappointment who's letting everybody down, and he doesn't want to face any of it right now. 

"Uh... sure," Prompto says after a hesitant moment, going over to start up his system. He hands a controller to Noct, who takes it gratefully, and then curls back up on the couch under his pile of blankets. They play for a while, and it's mindless and relaxing and exactly what Noct needs. 

About an hour later, half an hour after he should have been at the Citadel, his phone chimes with a text. He knows without looking that it's Ignis, and ignores it. A second one comes a couple minutes later, and he tenses, tendrils of anxiety coiling up tight again. 

"Um, you gonna—" Prompto's interrupted by several sneezes, and in the interim Noct sets down his controller, his interest in the game waning as guilt rears back up. 

"It's Ignis," he says, when Prompto's subsided. 

Prompto wipes at his nose, crumbling the tissue into a ball afterwards, and tossing it at a nearby trash can. He misses, letting out a sigh. "Yeah," he says as he gets up to throw it away, "probably wondering where you're at... that banquet is today, right?" 

Noct sighs. "Yeah." He doesn't say anything else, and though he can see Prompto's burning curiosity, he doesn't think he can explain it. Prompto's not royalty, hasn't grown up in or with the royal family, and though he tries to hide it, Noct can tell his best friend is still awed by everything sometimes. He's not sure Prompto will understand how he's feeling. He was excited and impressed when Noct first explained the banquet and the visiting dignitaries from Accordo to him. Prompto would probably be _thrilled_ to attend such a thing. 

Noct attempts to watch Prompto play the game on his own for several minutes, but his phone continues to go off with texts, and he gets more and more tense with each successive one, hunching over in his chair, growing anxiety creeping up his throat. 

"Maybe just let him know you're okay?" Prompto suggests after a few more texts, and Noct sighs again. He doesn't want to answer at all, but Prompto has a point. 

He pulls out his phone, looking at the texts. They're a mix of concerned and angry—Ignis can't seem to make up his mind on whether Noct's ditched him again, or if something's happened. 

_I'm fine_ , he types out, and after a brief hesitation, sends it as is. He doesn't want Ignis coming after him and dragging him over to the Citadel. Everyone will be angry with him—his dad will be _furious_ —but he can't bring himself to attend the banquet. Even if he could, he's not prepared, and he doesn't want to embarrass himself, or Ignis, who will shoulder more of the blame for his failure than he will, no matter how unfair that is. It's Ignis' job to inform him, but it's not Ignis' fault if Noct refuses to let himself be informed. 

_You're late_ , Ignis returns, as if Noct isn't aware of that. _Do you need a ride?_

_No._

_You're on your way, then?_

Noct pauses at that, not sure how to answer. It seems rude to just say no and let Ignis work it out, but he doesn't think he can explain to him any more than he can Prompto. _Not coming_ , he finally settles on, knowing that no matter how he says it, Ignis is going to kill him for his decision. 

Ignis doesn't even bother with a reply; his phone starts ringing instead. Noct stares at it anxiously instead of answering, until finally it ends, the voicemail probably picking up. He hasn't yet gotten around to setting up a personal message for it, so he doesn't know if Ignis will take the time to leave a reply, if he doesn't believe Noct will check it. 

_Noctis Lucis Caelum_ , comes the next text seconds later. _I do not know what has gotten into you lately to make you behave this way, but you do not have a choice in this matter. You WILL attend this banquet. I expect you down at the Citadel within the hour or so help me I will hunt you down and drag you back here kicking and screaming._

He reads through it a couple of times, reluctantly impressed at the anger Ignis can radiate through a text, and then shoves his phone back in his pocket without replying. 

Prompto wraps his blankets tighter around him, his own controller abandoned. "Everything okay?" 

"Yeah," Noct says softly. "Fine." 

It's not, and Prompto knows that as well as he does, but he doesn't call Noct out on it. 

He watches silently as Prompto resumes playing his video game, saying nothing else, and wishes he knew what was wrong with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real whump starts in the next chapter >:D Please feel free to leave me a comment and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was half asleep last week when I posted this up, and somehow managed to check that this fic had graphic violence. It does **not** have any violence, only accidental whump, and I've corrected the tag to no archive warnings apply. Sorry to disappoint anyone who was looking forward to violence XD

Noct lets himself into his apartment with no small amount of trepidation, but he's relieved when he doesn't spot Ignis' shoes in the entryway. It's late, and the banquet has long been over; he's spent most of the day at Prompto's, dreading the thought of leaving.

Despite his threats, Ignis hadn't come after him, probably stuck at the Citadel with too much to do. He _does_ have a ton of missed texts and calls on his phone, not only from Ignis, but from Gladio, and Cor, and even his dad. He maybe should have answered some of them, but he knows everyone is upset with him. Why subject himself to the lectures and yelling? 

He heads for his bedroom, pulling clothes off on the way, and climbs into bed immediately. Guilt's still gnawing at him, as it has been all day, every time his phone went off—the guilt kept him from silencing it—and now he wants nothing more than to sleep and avoid his problems for the next several hours. 

He does sleep, but it takes him awhile to get there, tossing and turning several times before he can get the thoughts in his brain to settle enough. When he wakes again late the next afternoon, it's to the sound of someone—Ignis, really, because who else would it be?—letting himself into the apartment. 

He tenses, slowly sitting up and running a hand through his hair, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes and not look entirely pathetic when Ignis comes in to yell at him. Unfortunately, he's still squinting blearily when Ignis knocks at his open door, a yawn escaping him as Ignis stands in his doorway and crosses his arms over his chest, a look of murder written across his face. 

"Can I at least shower and get dressed first?" Noct mutters around a second yawn. 

Ignis' jaw twitches, as if the effort of holding back his verbal evisceration is monumental. "Fine," he says tersely. 

Noct spends a long time in the shower, wanting to put off the confrontation as long as possible, but eventually his fingers start wrinkling, and he gets out reluctantly, though he still has to talk himself into shutting the water off first. He takes his time drying and dressing, doing as much as he can to delay, but eventually he opens the door and heads into the kitchen to accept his fate. 

"I expect you have a good excuse for deliberately skipping the banquet yesterday?"

"Uh." Noct pulls out a chair, dropping down into it, and wonders how to answer that. "I... couldn't go." 

Ignis stares at him from across the table, his extreme frustration evident. His mouth is pinched tight, opening a few times as he goes to say something and think better of it, and his fingers are drumming out an upset rhythm on the table, clearly grasping for some inward patience. Noct so rarely sees him this way, and knowing it's directed at him makes his chest tighten with anxiety and shame. "Explain that," Ignis finally says. 

Noct opens his mouth to do just that, thinking he at least owes Ignis that much, because he _knows_ he pulled a shitty thing yesterday, leaving Ignis to try and explain his absence to everyone and take the brunt of the blame, but the thought of admitting all his worries paralyses him, and he can't do it. So he retreats instead, falling back into the sullen brat who says little and pretends not to care. "Just didn't feel like going." 

"Didn't—Your Highness. _Noctis_. Being the Crown Prince does not equal doing whatever you feel like without regard to anyone else. You cannot get away with anything you want. You still have obligations, whether you care or not." 

"I know that!" Noct returns, a bit of frustration leaking into his own voice. He takes a couple of deep breaths, clenching his hands into fists under the table, curling them up against his legs and then releasing him. The motion doesn't calm him, exactly, but it keeps him from getting any angrier. Does Ignis really think he's unaware of his responsibilities, his future duty to the crown, and the kingdom, and the people that will one day be his? 

He's more aware of that than _anything_ —it's all he can think about at times, the enormity of it choking him, slithering down his throat and suffocating him until he wants to claw at his own body and rip his throat open just to get a breath in. The problem isn't that he doesn't care. It's that he cares too much, feels so much pressure to get everything exactly right, and that terrifies him. 

And to pile the thought of his dad's... his dad being gone on top of all that, knowing that in order for Noct to become a great king his dad first has to—to—no, he can't. He doesn't want to deal with any of it right now. He loves Insomnia, and he loves its citizens, and he wants to do right by them, but right now he's not sure if he can ever be king. 

"Do you?" Ignis asks, and Noct wrenches himself back to the conversation—if it can really be called that. "Because I must say, Highness, your behaviour of late certainly has not shown it." 

"Of course I do," Noct scoffs, letting his lip curl in derision. "I go to all the other stupid events I'm required at, even though all I ever do is sit there and carry on vapid conversations with ancient old men." 

Ignis exhales slowly, and it makes guilt prick at Noct to see him so obviously struggle to hold onto his fraying temper. "Accordo has a long history with Insomnia, and Lucis in general. They are both a valuable alliance and resource for trading. Their visit is vitally important, not only for your father, but for you as well, as eventually it will be _you_ maintaining those relationships your father is currently building up." 

"Yeah, yeah, I _know_. Lay off, Ignis, it was one dinner." 

"It was more than one simple dinner," Ignis says, his words hardening, and Noct half expects him to slam his hand down on the table, the way Gladio would. "You are the future king of Insomnia, Noct. It's high time you started acting like it." 

That one stings. Anger sparks again, and though he doesn't entirely mean the next words, he can't keep them from spilling out. "Well maybe I don't want to be king!" 

"You have no choice!" Ignis returns sharply. "One day your father will die and that burden will fall to you whether you want it or not!" 

Noct stares at him, breath caught in his throat as the word 'die' echoes in his mind. He swallows, any chance of a retort dying on his tongue as an image of his father's still and lifeless body pops in his head. It makes him feel sick, anxiety rising, acid burning his throat. 

He shoves his chair back abruptly, nearly falling over it in his haste to get to his feet, and then he whirls, rushing for the front door. He hears Ignis call his name in exasperation and alarm as he flees the apartment, but he ignores it. 

He doesn't head for Prompto's this time. Prompto's sick, and shouldn't have to put up with him and his stupid problems for two days in a row. Instead he ends up wandering aimlessly, making his way through the nearby neighbourhoods without any conscious destination in mind, or even paying attention to where he's going. His thoughts are in a turmoil, scattered and fleeting, darting through his mind, vanishing when he tries to reach out and hold on to any of them and examine them further. 

He wants to be king, but he doesn't want the cost. He doesn't want to think about his dad— _dying_. He can't believe Ignis would say it so bluntly. Ignis hates him. He's a disappointment. He's a failure. He's never going to be able to live up to the expectations everyone has of him. He should have sucked it up and went to the banquet. He should have read the report. How hard is it to read a few papers? Why can't he just do the things he needs to? 

Noct doesn't know how long he walks, but when his phone starts ringing he's still agitated. He yanks it from his pocket, checking the display to confirm that it's Ignis. He can't talk to his advisor right now. He hits ignore, and then pulls up his settings, disabling the GPS on his phone before shoving it back in his pocket. He won't put it past Ignis to try and locate him that way, and he really doesn't want to deal with him. 

Ignis calls a few more times. Noct can feel the vibrations in his pocket, but he doesn't pull his phone out again. Ignis will just yell at him, or worse, want to apologise, but either way Noct will break down if Ignis mentions his dad again, and he's not up for falling apart right now. 

Some time later, he spots the car turning onto the street he's walking on. It's several buildings down, but he knows it's Ignis, driving around and looking for him. Not wanting to be found, he looks around quickly, spotting a small building nearby that's been abandoned for several years. It's an old office building, left abandoned after the company moved to a bigger building, and for reasons unknown the building's never been renovated or torn down. Now it sits in decay, its unsightly appearance dragging down the rest of the neighbourhood around it. 

Jogging towards it, he finds a side entrance that's missing a door, and slips inside. At first he stays there, thinking to just wait it out, but realising Ignis will probably be driving around all the areas near his apartment and along the most obvious routes home for a while, he decides to go exploring. He doesn't know how long he might have to wait, and the longer he can avoid Ignis the better, so he might as well. At least it'll be a distraction. 

He looks around, taking in what he can see. The building's semi-dark, some of the windows boarded up and blocking the sun's rays from coming in, but others are busted and broken, glass scattered all around the floor, and it's through those that the sun peeks in, filtering just enough light in to cast a gloomy glow on everything. There's trash and office supplies strewn about everywhere, and Noct steps through it all cautiously, not wanting to lose his footing. The place is filthy, and if he falls and cuts himself open on anything, who knows what kind of diseases he'd wind up with. 

Dust covers everything in a thick layer, making him sneeze, and leaves blown in from years of storms crunch under his feet as he walks. There are spiderwebs everywhere, elaborately woven fine threads spanning across windows, big spiders resting on them, waiting for the next prey to come along and get trapped. He can hear things scurrying in the walls and across the floors, bugs, or maybe rats. He doesn't want to think too much about it. 

Once upon the time the floor had been divided into cubicles, but most of the dividers are gone now, the few that are left ripped or knocked about on their sides.There's a lot of office furniture left behind, chairs tipped on their sides and desks with their drawers all yanked open, and he ambles over to one of them with interest, rifling through papers left behind. They're full of numbers—budget proposals and summaries and other things that have little meaning to him, and after looking through several he drops them back in the drawers, interest waning. 

Looking around, he catches sight of some stairs, the door to them wide open and half hanging off its hinges. He picks his way through the junk over to them, and climbs them very carefully. They're made of wood rather than concrete—a trend in a lot of commercial buildings built before the early 700s, and he curses Ignis for knowing that and sharing it with him—and they're rotting and rickety. It's probably not the wisest idea for Noct to be on them, or even wandering around this building, but he's not ready to go home or face Ignis, and he has nothing better to do. 

He explores through a few floors, finding much of the same as the first on each successive story. The wooden floors are as rotted away as the stairs are, weak boards everywhere and even gaping holes in some places, so he has to be extra careful. While he pokes around, he thinks once more on his argument with Ignis. The exploration has distracted him like he'd hoped, calming him, so his thoughts aren't quite as distressed as before. 

He still doesn't want to think about his dad being gone, but deep down he knows Ignis is right. Some day his dad _will_ die—and gods that word still makes him cringe, nausea rising in his throat—and he'll become king, and that time isn't as far away as Noct would like it to be. He needs to get his act together and start behaving more like the future king of Insomnia, needs to start accepting his responsibilities and obligations and learning all the things he'll need for when that time comes. 

Only... he still wishes Ignis wouldn't push quite so hard all the time. It's so much harder when he's feeling all that pressure to do everything, and feeling weighed down by the crushing fear of disappointing everyone. But he knows that's on him, too, because instead of letting Ignis know that he's struggling, he's kept it all bottled inside and acted like a brat. If Ignis just knew what was going on, he'd be able to help him instead of being part of the problem. 

Noct sighs, climbing the stairs to the sixth and final story. It looks to have been a storage area of some sort perhaps, as there are rusting filing cabinets and half-rotted boxes all over the place, their contents pulled out and littering the floors of each room. It's even less interesting than the other floors, and it's starting to get darker outside, the sun setting as evening wears on, fading into night, making it harder to see. 

It's probably time for him to go. He's been here long enough that Ignis has most likely given up looking for him, and he can't avoid him forever anyway... He needs to go home, and maybe actually _talk_ to him. Ignis cares for him, he knows, and only wants the best for him. He should let Ignis help. And though there may not be daemons, Insomnia's not always the safest place at night in some areas, and the Crown Prince walking around the dark streets completely alone isn't the best idea. 

He walks around a filing cabinet that's been knocked on its side, heading for the hallway. There's no windows in this room, the only light coming in from the hall, and he can't see very well. Despite that, he's not paying much attention to the floor, his thoughts focused on trying to formulate an explanation to Ignis, and maybe an apology. So when his foot suddenly catches on an old box, he's not expecting it at all. 

Noct cries out as he loses balance, arms flailing as he tries to correct himself, but instead he overcompensates and stumbles backward, legs giving out as he goes sprawling towards the floor. The wood up here is weak, mostly rotted away, and it creaks ominously as Noct lands hard on his butt, a shock of pain racing up his spine, knocking the breath from him. A loud cracking noise rips throughout the room, and before he can even consciously gather what's happening, he's falling. 

A scream tears from his throat as he plummets _through_ the floor, right through decaying wood and the cheap peeling plaster of the ceiling, wind whistling rapidly past his ears, eyes wide open in shock as he twists desperately, hands clawing about in the air, wanting some way to stop his descent. There's no time for a second scream as the floor of the previous story rushes up far too fast, and it's only after he's gone through it, body scraping painfully on broken boards, arm catching briefly and ripping open skin, that he registers he's gone right through a hole in that floor, falling further down to the story below. 

He hits the next floor sideways with a jarring impact that sends shockwaves throughout his entire body, but he's not given a chance to process it, as his weight and the force of his landing is enough to break the derelict boards and send him falling yet further, one of the now broken boards scraping and piercing briefly into his leg as it plunges through the newly made hole. He twists again, wanting to minimise the damage of the next landing, but he's disoriented and terrified, and he can't get his body to go in the position he wants it to. 

He lands hard on the third floor, on his back, breath stolen from him once more, head smacking sickeningly against the wooden floor, immediate nausea rising up as pain overwhelms him. It's everywhere, his head pounding, body aching, arms and sides stinging, back throbbing, and it's all he can focus on. The floor holds steady thankfully, but a confused fog is creeping into his brain, stealing away rational thought, and he tries to sit up on instinct, a need to get home the only thing left in his mind. 

His head lifts up easily enough, though it's still throbbing terribly, but when he tries to move the rest of his body, white-hot agony rushes through him instantly, every nerve suddenly feeling like it's on fire, the world around him disappearing as everything narrows down to only those sensations. He can't even manage another scream; his eyes flutter, head falling back to hit the floor once more, and awareness fades away as he blacks out. 

* * *

Noct's return to consciousness does not come easily. He comes around slowly, confusion clouding his mind and making everything seem so unreal that he's not sure if he's awake or dreaming. There's a pulsing pressure in his head that leaves him dizzy with the intensity of it, and he feels sick. There's also a heavy drowsiness weighing him down, and a faint ringing in his ears that sends little stabs of pain arcing through his forehead. He can't remember what's happened. So many parts of his body hurt and he doesn't know why. 

A strange tune begins to play, the sound muffled, and it takes him several drawn out minutes to understand that it's his phone, ringing from where it's in his pocket. He reaches for it, using his dominant arm, and more pain flares up, shooting out from his wrist and up his arm, making him scream at the severity, tears pricking at his eyes. He tries to take a deep breath, but it's a sharp ache in his chest that scares him. 

Swallowing down more cries, he carefully moves his left arm, relieved when it doesn't hurt. He drags it over to his right pocket, little gasps escaping him as he has to twist his body some to reach, sending more sparks of pain throughout it, and slowly works his fingers in, grasping his phone and dragging it out. It's stopped ringing by now, and he stares at it, feeling like there's something he should do with it, but the haze in his brain keeps him from figuring out what. He sets it down on his chest and lets the pain overwhelm him enough to pass out again. 

When he comes to, his phone is ringing. Noct forces his eyes open, vision blurring, and tries to figure out what's going on. There's a big blank spot in his memory. He remembers leaving Prompto's around nine and going home, crawling into bed, and then... there's nothing. He must have fallen asleep, but why does everything hurt now? He doesn't know, and that scares him. 

His phone's sitting on his chest, ringing again—still?—and he has no idea why it's there. He should probably answer it though. For reasons he doesn't understand, instinct has him using his left hand, and he gropes at it, fingers eventually sliding over the answer button. "'lo?" he says, the word only half-making it through his scratchy voice. He frowns when he doesn't hear anything in return. After a long, bewildered moment of lying there blankly, he realises he should put the phone on speaker. He lifts it in his left hand, squinting blearily at it, and then slips his thumb across the button that he thinks is the correct one. 

"—you there? Your Highness?" 

"Ignis? Why ya callin' me in the mi'ile of the night?" Noct frowns a second time. There's something wrong with his words. They sound off, and they're hard to get out. He doesn't know why. His head feels so fuzzy, and it's hard to think. 

"Middle of the night?" Ignis' voice sounds confused, and it confuses Noct in return. 

"'s dark," he explains. He may not know what's happened, but he knows enough to understand that dark equals night, and he feels like he's been sleeping for at least a few hours... 

"Highness, it's only just gone past eight in the evening." 

"Oh." That... doesn't seem right, but Noct's head is swimming too much to make sense of it. Maybe he's wrong about the time he left Prompto's. 

"Where are you?" He's annoyed, and Noct once again has no idea why. The last memory he has involving Ignis is the two of them going to pick up Noct's suit for the banquet. That had been... yesterday? He thinks. And today he had gone to Prompto's... but that doesn't seem right either, because the banquet was today, and though he can't remember, he must have gone to it. 

Maybe he's just got his days mixed up. Everything's jumbled up. Maybe the banquet is tomorrow, and that's why he went to Prompto's today. They'd played video games, he remembers that much, so maybe he just wanted to relax before the dinner tomorrow. 

"Your Highness," Ignis says, drawing his attention again, and he blinks. "Where are you?" 

"Hmm." Noct drags the sound out as he thinks, head aching fiercely while he tries to piece together his thoughts. Logic tells him the probable answer, but it seems wrong and he's not sure why. "My 'partment?" 

Ignis lets out a little huff of breath. " _I'm_ at your apartment, Noct. You are not here." 

Now that Ignis is saying it, it doesn't really feel like his bed beneath him. Wherever he's lying, it's hard and unforgiving. "I'ono," he says then, "but 's cold." He can't say the words quite right, his tongue's too heavy and not lifting like it should, but he thinks Ignis will understand him. Probably. 

There's a long silence, enough that he forgets he's on the phone, and when Ignis speaks again, it startles him. "...Are you drunk?" 

Noct scrunches his face up. Is he? He can't remember, and trying to makes his head hurt. He feels like someone took a hammer to it. He's never been drunk before. Is this what it feels like? "Dunno," he says, making an effort to form the word. "Maybe?" 

"You don't know?" There's a disapproving tone to Ignis' voice, but Noct ignores it. He's good at that. 

"No," he says, drawing that out too, and then laughs as something small and light scurries across his right hand. "Tha' tickled." 

"What did?" 

He puts effort into forming the words again, knowing Ignis will appreciate the precision. He doesn't know why Ignis is mad, but he doesn't want him to be. "Somethin' ran 'cross my hand." 

"Ran across your... Noct, can you please describe your surroundings?" Ignis' tone has changed to one of alarm, and it worries Noct too. Ignis only gets concerned when he has good reason to be. 

He should probably do what Ignis wants. He doesn't want Ignis to be any angrier, or more concerned. There's only one problem with answering Ignis' question: he isn't sure of his surroundings. "Dark," he offers. He knows that much. 

"And...?" 

He's still on his back, and glancing around doesn't let him really see anything other than walls. He should probably stop lying on the floor and figure out where he actually is, since it's apparently not his apartment. He picks up his phone, holding it in his left hand, and then goes to move his right arm, intending to brace it against the floor and get to his feet, but the second he moves his hand, sheer, blinding agony overtakes him, jolting out from his wrist and up the length of his arm. Noct screams. 

He zones out then, his reality becoming nothing but the pain, tears he can't hold back tracking down his cheeks and wetting his neck. It's Ignis' voice that eventually brings him back, frantically yelling his name, loudly echoing through the phone still held in his hand. 

He sets the phone back down on his chest, and attempts to take a deep breath, but it feels tight, sharp pain spiking around his ribs, and he can't get a full one. "Hurts," he whimpers into the phone. 

"What hurts?" 

"Arm," Noct says. 

"Is there anything else?" Ignis is calm and steady, and it soothes Noct some, his tears drying up. 

"Head. Chest. Sides. Leg? Dunno." He'd paused a moment to take stock of himself, but there's so much pain that it's hard for him to focus on where exactly it's all coming from. 

"Any other symptoms?" 

"Uh..." Noct hesitates, trying to figure out how to answer that, but everything's just too muddled and he doesn't know what Ignis is wanting from him. "Dunno. Hard to think. Feel sick." 

There's a quiet exhale before Ignis speaks again, and he doesn't address Noct's pain. "Is there anyone there with you?" 

Noct has no memory of what transpired, but instinct tells him _no_. He listens for a few moments anyway, for any sign that there might be another person nearby, but he hears nothing aside from the muted sounds of the city in the distance. "No," he says finally. His thoughts are a mess, too many things uncertain, but the potential of one thing has been drilled into him from a young age—he knows what Ignis is getting at and doesn't need clear thoughts to follow that line of thinking. "Don' think anyone took me." 

"Do you have any idea what _has_ happened?" 

He tries hard to remember, he really does. But there's only the gaping void between the time he came home from Prompto's and when he woke up lying... well, wherever he's currently at. It makes his head hurt more to try and recall what's not there, so he has to stop, and it's frustrating and scary. He wants to go home. "Can't 'member." 

"Are you perhaps able to look around, and describe your surroundings?" 

Noct yawns. Now that he's stopped moving his wrist, the pain in it has abated some, and a heavy exhaustion is starting to steal over him. He's afraid and hurting, but that's dropping into the background, Ignis' voice reassuring him that whatever's wrong, whatever has happened, Ignis is going to figure it out and take him home. Things haven't been great between them lately, Ignis has been mad about the report, but when Noct gets home he's gonna read it and then go to the banquet and everything will be fine again. Ignis cares about him, and he'll do whatever it takes to find him. "'m tired." 

"Don't go to sleep," Ignis says immediately, and he sounds alarmed again, but Noct's too tired to figure out why. What's so bad about a nap? 

"Wanna sleep." His words are slurring again, the effort to say them properly losing the battle to his sudden fatigue. 

"Noct, you mustn't. You need to try and stay awake. Please, look around you, and tell me what it is you see." 

Noct sighs, but dutifully sweeps his eyes around the room. On his back, in the dark, there isn't much to see. "Walls," he says, and then raises his eyes upward, expecting to see the usual. "A... hole," he says instead, staring at it. That makes something spark in his brain, but it's fleeting, and disappears before he can properly take hold of it. 

"A hole?" Ignis sounds puzzled, but Noct has no answer for him. 

He lowers his eyes again, letting them shutter closed as another yawn slips out. He's struggling to stay awake, wanting to if only for Ignis' sake, but he's fading fast, and he isn't going to last. "Sorry, Specs," he mumbles. "Gotta sleep." 

"Noct—" 

He doesn't hear whatever else Ignis has to say, too busy focusing on jabbing at his phone, until at last his finger hits the end call button, cutting off Ignis' voice, and then he lets his hand drop back to his side as sleep claims him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks last chapter! They make me happy <3 Feel free to drop me a thought on this chapter as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...if you're wondering about the stick figure ascii art you might have seen in (as) the summary, it's squeem's fault. I'm not going to explain it other than to say it's noct's body falling through the floor. hi I'm fayth and I'm terrible to noct :D
> 
> also I'm experimenting with posting schedules, trying saturday for now and seeing if that works any better. yay you guys get a chapter a little early!

For several long moments, Ignis stares at his phone, the silence mocking him, before he slowly lowers it, trying to make sense of the conversation he'd had just now. Until Noct had screamed, Ignis had suspected him to be drunk—seemingly out of character for him, but much of his attitude of late has also been. Now, Ignis only worries about how injured he is.

He's been furious all day, and most of yesterday as well. When Noct hadn't shown at the Citadel to get ready for the banquet, a sick feeling had taken up residence in Ignis' gut. Though he'd tried to convince himself Noct was simply late, somehow he _knew_ that Noct was skipping out. He'd likely hidden out at Prompto's, and though Ignis dearly wanted to go after him and drag him back to the palace, there had been simply too much to do for him to be able to get away. 

He'd received the chewing out of his lifetime, from Cor, Clarus, _and_ His Majesty. It had been quite humiliating, especially as he had no good explanation for Noct's absence. He'd wanted to get to the bottom of Noct's behaviour earlier this afternoon, but Noct had taken off before their argument had barely begun. 

Ignis had expected him to go to Prompto's again. Whenever Noct's upset, that's usually the first place he heads these days. Prompto hadn't answered his phone when he'd called, however, and Noct, of course, had ignored his, so Ignis had went out driving around, looking for Noct, just in case. After half an hour he'd given up, deciding to let Noct have the time to cool off. 

But once dark came about, and Noct still wasn't home... 

Noct answering his phone at last had given him the most infuriating mix of relief and frustration. Relief that Noct was okay, frustration that Noct had avoided him all afternoon, and seemed to be drunk. Then he'd screamed, the most pain-filled scream Ignis had ever heard from him, and his heart had dropped down into his stomach. Those minutes of hearing Noct scream and cry before he answered Ignis again were some of the worst minutes of his life, and he hopes to never relive them. 

He realises now—Noct isn't drunk. He most certainly has a concussion, though Astrals know how he wound up with it, and that knowledge fills Ignis with a terrible fear. Concussions are more serious than many people treat them as, and can cause long-lasting complications, especially if Noct had passed out at any point. That he's sleeping now worries Ignis terribly. 

His only consolation is that Noct doesn't believe he was kidnapped, and that's not much of one. Noct hasn't told him where he's at, or what other sort of injuries he has, or how serious they may be. Ignis has zero idea what's happened to him, and it makes him feel faint. All of his frustration and anger with Noct is gone. Whatever he's done these past few months, it matters little; he wants only for Noct to be fine and come home safe. 

Swallowing, he lifts his phone again, intending to call the Crownsguard, but hesitation stays him and makes him lower it to his lap a second time. Noct's hurt, but it may not be _too_ serious, and if the Crownsguard are officially alerted to his missing status, it will surely catch media attention. There's already enough scrutiny going on with the visitors from Accordo; Insomnia has no need for anything else. 

And the Crownsguard are busy with those visitors, besides. There is another dinner going on tonight, this one not quite as lavish as yesterday's, with more entertainment, and tomorrow there will be a meeting at the Caelum Via hotel, to make official the new terms of the trade agreement. Noct is certainly important, but if Ignis can find him first without having to involve the Crownsguard... 

He feels far too young, suddenly, uncertain what the right decision is, and if he's even equipped to make it. He's seventeen, though he frequently feels in his early twenties, and has received training on plenty of potential emergency situations involving Noct's safety, but nothing quite like this. Noct _should_ be the priority, but he's not certain if the Crownsguard will see it that way, and it seems a waste of resources if he can be found without that much fuss. 

He calls Gladio, instead. "Noct's missing," he tells him, getting right to the point. "And I believe he may have a concussion, and possibly other injuries." 

"Shit," Gladio says after a startled moment. "Iggy, what the hell." 

"He... did not take kindly to being lectured this afternoon about skipping out on yesterday's banquet. He ran out," Ignis says, and goes on to explain the little information he'd gathered from Noct's phone call earlier. 

"Why not get the Crownsguard? They're busy, but it ain't gonna take them long to track his phone." 

Ignis sighs, closing his eyes as he presses his fingers to his temple, feeling a dull throbbing start up. "He had to get a new phone three days ago. Shattered the other beyond repair. I told him the Crownsguard would be too busy to secure his phone until next week, and to hang on to it in the meantime." 

"So he doesn't have any tracking? Shit," Gladio swears a second time. 

"If we can get him on the phone again, we might get enough information to figure out where he is... I am reluctant to involve the Crownsguard, as the media would surely get wind if a large number of them leave tonight's event early." 

"Right," Gladio says, and his voice is grim, which reassures Ignis about the decision. "There'd be a media circus if it's known Noct is missing, especially with those guys from Accordo here. Who knows what kind of accusations would get thrown around, and if this deal falls through..." 

"It would certainly be a blow to Insomnia," Ignis agrees. 

"No need to get 'em involved. You at Noct's apartment?" 

Ignis gets up from the sofa, wandering over to the windows to stare out into the night. "Yes," he says, his voice quiet as he looks over the city and wonders where Noct is. 

Gladio lets out a breath. "Hang tight then. I'll be there soon. We'll figure this out, Iggy. We'll find him." 

"I hope so," Ignis whispers to the now dead line. He gazes at all the tops of the buildings sticking out above the privacy fence, and wonders if Noct is lying somewhere near or in any of them. He'd said walls, and a hole... it's not much to go on. 

Rubbing at his temples, he moves away, heading for the kitchen for some painkillers as he brings up Prompto's name in his contacts, hitting his number to dial it. Prompto sounds uncertain when he answers. Ignis can't blame him—they're polite to each other, and Prompto's friendly enough, but they don't talk much outside of when they're together with Noct. "Ignis?" 

"Prompto. Pardon my intrusion for calling at this late hour, but have you by chance heard from Noct today?" 

"Late—" Prompto starts, and then cuts himself off. "Um. No. He was here yesterday though?" 

"I assumed as much," Ignis sighs, and then quickly swallows two pills, heading back over to the sofa and dropping down into it. 

"Look, maybe it's not my place, but yesterday... he seemed really stressed? And every time his phone rang, he'd give it this kind of guilty look, you know? And when he first showed up, he said he _couldn't_ go, and for a moment I thought..." 

Ignis taps his fingers against the arm of the sofa, waiting for Prompto to go on. "You thought?" he prompts, when there seems to be no more forthcoming. 

Letting out a loud sigh, Prompto finally continues. "I dunno. I just thought he might cry, for a moment. He looked really upset. Like something was wrong." 

There's a silence then, and Ignis tries to process the information. That doesn't mesh with the sullen, uncaring Noct he's been dealing with of late, but it _does_ seem more like the Noct he's known for years. It had struck Ignis as quite odd that the only reason Noct could offer for skipping the banquet was that he "didn't feel like going," because that's never been his way before. Noct has griped plenty about royal events he doesn't want to attend, but he's always shown up for them. 

"Is he okay?" Prompto's voice comes timid, breaking into his thoughts, the concern in it making Ignis answer honestly before he can think better of it. 

"He's missing." 

Prompto lets out a brief noise of confusion. "Missing?" 

Wishing he'd not said anything, Ignis explains with the same little information he'd given Gladio. He tries to keep his voice calm, not wanting to worry him too much. Prompto's quiet when he finishes, and Ignis doesn't know him well enough to guess what he might be thinking. 

What Prompto does end up saying is certainly the last thing Ignis is expecting. "I'm coming over." 

"Excuse me?" Ignis blurts out, and then immediately corrects himself, feeling his face heat up a little. "My apologies, that was rude of me. However, there is little you can do here, Prompto. There is no need for you to rush over." 

"Noct's my best friend. I'm not going to sit at home and wait around for hours while he's missing and hurt and hope you eventually find him. Even if it's not much, I wanna do whatever I can to help!" 

Well. Having Prompto here where he can keep an eye on him is probably the better choice. He doesn't need Prompto running off on his own to find Noct and ending up missing too. "Very well," Ignis says. "Gladio and I will be at Noct's apartment." 

"See you soon," Prompto says, and hangs up. 

* * *

"So we've got nothing on his location?" 

Ignis shakes his head at Gladio, knowing he feels just as frustrated as Gladio looks. It's been fifty minutes since Ignis called both him and Prompto, and they've spent the past twenty minutes since their arrival rehashing what little information he'd given them on the phone, desperately wanting some way to find Noct, but having little idea where to start. "The only information he was able to relay about his surroundings was dark, walls, and a hole. Walls suggests a building, but whether he's in one somewhere or outside and simply near one, I could not say." 

"He didn't say where he was going when he left this afternoon?" 

"I had assumed he was going to your house," Ignis tells Prompto. "Clearly he did not. And I saw no sign of him when I drove around." 

"Dammit!" Gladio bangs his hand down hard on the table, rattling Ignis' mug of coffee. Ignis grabs at it before it can spill, cradling it in his hands. "Why's he always gotta pull this shit lately? He ain't never gonna be king if he keeps acting like this. He needs to get his shit together and man up, not run off like a child when he gets scolded." 

"Gladio," Ignis says sharply. "This isn't the time for that." _And not in front of Prompto_ , he adds silently, letting his glare speak the words for him. 

Gladio sighs, slumping his shoulders as he scrubs a hand over his face. "Right. Sorry." 

"We're all worried," Ignis says in lieu of accepting the apology. 

Prompto pulls out his phone, drawing their attention as he lets it clatter to the table. "I'm gonna call him." 

Ignis falls quiet as Prompto dials the number, putting the phone on speaker, letting them hear it. Ignis waits as it rings, each successive one making his heart thump with anxiety. He's been trying to keep his emotions at bay, not wanting them to overwhelm him at an inopportune time, but listening to the phone continue to ring as Noct doesn't answer brings all his fear to the forefront. 

He's utterly helpless. Noct is out there somewhere, injured and alone, in pain, and Ignis has no idea how to help him, how to find him and bring him home. It makes him feel as if he's failed him. Based on Prompto's words earlier, Noct _isn't_ just being a difficult brat, there's something bothering him and making him act out, and he suspects now that Noct has been hoping for him to pick up on it. Only he hasn't. The knowledge gnaws at him. 

Prompto ends the call when the voicemail picks up, and Ignis tactfully refrains from mentioning the tears pooling in his eyes. Perhaps he should have made Prompto stay at home after all. He hasn't the training to deal with a situation like this. Not to mention he's sick besides, a cold having plagued him in the form of a rough cough and runny nose ever since he arrived at the apartment. Hardly ideal conditions for him to assist in a search to find Noct. 

"Hey, kid, we're gonna find him," Gladio says, his voice gruff, as he reaches out a hand and lays it on Prompto's shoulder, briefly squeezing. 

Prompto nods, wiping at his eyes, and Ignis blinks, reluctant pride warming his chest as Prompto straightens up, giving them both a determined look. "Let's go look for him." 

"Where? We've nothing to go on." Ignis isn't proud of the bitter defeat filling his tone, but he doesn't feel the confidence and determination of the other two. They hadn't heard Noct on the phone, how muddled his speech was and how confused he sounded about where he was. They hadn't heard that scream, the soul-shattering one that had made Ignis' heart nearly stop with how terrible it had been. The more time has continued to pass without word from Noct, the more his worry has grown, and now he fears that Noct might be very seriously injured, and if he's—Astrals forbid, he dearly hopes not— _dying_ , then time might be of the essence, and they're going to need more information before they can possibly hope to find him. 

"Anywhere!" Prompto jumps up from his chair, seemingly too keyed up to sit still. "You thought he was going to my place, right? Maybe he got hurt along the way. Or we could check the routes to the usual places he haunts, or even the just the neighbourhood around his building, in case he got hurt on the way home! It's better than sitting around here hoping he'll magically call. Isn't it?" 

Ignis isn't sure whether it's the words or the optimistic look on Prompto's face, but he feels some conviction come back to him, anxiety leaping up from his stomach to his heart as it turns into a fragile hope. Prompto's right, doing something is better than sitting around, and Ignis decides. No matter what it takes, they _are_ going to find Noct. He's not going to fail him any longer. 

* * *

An hour later, that conviction has faded again. They've been driving around slowly, travelling along all the usual routes Noct might have taken, hoping the headlights will catch on his body somewhere, lying hurt on the sidewalk or down an alleyway, injured but alive and waiting for them. They've even stopped a few times, Prompto and Gladio getting out of the car to look around boxes or dumpsters or through open doors of buildings that have been sitting abandoned. 

They've found nothing, and Ignis' hope has been stomped on, shoved back down to his stomach in tatters. Every time he'd stopped the car, he'd stayed with it and attempted to call Noct, but there had never been any answer. The fear of what that might mean has been gnawing steadily at him. 

They head back to Noct's apartment and go in, downtrodden and downcast. Prompto flops down on the sofa, but Gladio follows him to the kitchen. "Coffee?" he offers as he starts a fresh pot, and Gladio nods. 

"Maybe we should reconsider the Crownsguard," Gladio says several minutes later, as Ignis passes him a steaming mug. "It's just after eleven. It's been, what, three hours since you talked with him?" 

"More or less," Ignis says quietly, looking down at his own mug. In the other room, he hears Prompto make another attempt at calling Noct, and he almost wishes he wouldn't, because the neverending ringing as Noct fails to pick up is too painful to bear. 

"Preventing a media circus ain't gonna do us much good if he's—" 

"Don't say it," Ignis commands, cutting him off. He's thought it in his own head, but he doesn't want to hear it said aloud. The possibility would become too real then, and he doesn't dare to truly consider it. 

"Noct!" Prompto cries, drawing both his and Gladio's attention. They slam their mugs down on the counter, sloshing coffee everywhere, but for once Ignis doesn't care, ignoring it to rush over to the sofa. The phone's on speaker, and they can hear Noct talking, his voice slow and confused, the words still somewhat slurred. 

"Prom'to? You're callin' late..." 

"Noct..." Prompto starts, but Ignis doesn't give him a chance to say anything else, snatching the phone from his hand. "Hey!" he cries, but Ignis ignores him, manners forgotten in his urgency. 

Noct's answered the phone. He's not dead somewhere. He's hurt, still badly concussed, but he's _alive_ and Ignis has never felt such relief. He brings the phone closer to him and prepares to speak. 

* * *

Waking up hurts. His head's a mass of pain, his ears are ringing, and he feels like he's going to throw up. He can't focus enough to think clearly, but he knows this isn't the first time he's woken up like this. He'd woken up before, in just as much pain, and Ignis had been on the phone with him. 

That triggers a thought, and Noct fumbles at his chest with his left hand, finding his phone. He should call Ignis, ask him to come get him. Only once he picks up the phone and brings up the home screen, he can't seem to remember how to make it work. Ignis' number is... somewhere. He's not sure where. Everything's so mixed up in his head, and it's too much effort to make sense of it. Sighing, he lets the phone drop back to his chest, and lies there. 

His right arm aches. He remembers the agony he'd felt when he'd tried to move it before, and thinks it's probably broken. He wants to lift his arm, to look at it and see if it _looks_ broken, but he doesn't dare move it any further. He doesn't want that pain again. 

He wishes he could remember what happened. How he went from being asleep in his bed after getting home from Prompto's to... well, here, wherever that is, lying battered in the dark on a cold floor, in pain. He doesn't want to think about it too much, but it scares him, his mouth going dry as thoughts flood his mind. It doesn't seem like anyone knows where he is. What if they can't find him? What if he's somewhere where _no one_ will find him? Or worse, someone _does_... but they want to take advantage of having the Crown Prince injured and at their mercy? 

He wants Ignis. Ignis always makes him feel better, even when they're at odds and both being insufferable in their own ways. There's just something about his presence, how he's always there by Noct's side, supporting him no matter what... it's comforting and reassuring, and he desperately needs that now. 

Something scuttles across his right hand, the feel of long, spindly legs making his skin crawl, and on instinct he jerks his wrist, trying to twist it and dislodge the spider. The flare of pain makes his vision blur with tears, spots dancing in his eyes as his breath catches on a scream, leaving him gasping instead. Nausea rises, vomit surging up his throat, and he forcibly swallows it back down. Tears prick at his eyes, but he forces those back too. He hurts too much to allow himself to fall apart right now. 

When his phone rings he grabs at it, grateful for the distraction and hoping it's Ignis. "'lo?" 

"Noct!" 

It's Prompto voice, and Noct frowns, confusion momentarily overriding the pain. He's not sure what time it is, isn't even sure what _day_ it is any more, but he's pretty sure it's nighttime at least. And Prompto always likes to go to bed early, because he likes to get up for an early morning jog before school. He should be asleep right now. "Prom'to? You're callin' late..." he finally mumbles out. 

"Noct... hey!" 

"Prom'to?" 

"Noct, where are you?" That's Ignis' voice, and it confuses Noct further. What happened to Prompto? 

"Specs," he says, but Ignis continues with his questions, not giving Noct a chance to respond. 

"Noct, I need to know more about where you are in order to find you. Where did you go when you left this afternoon? What direction did you head? Are you inside somewhere? Are you outside near a building? Are there any recognisable landmarks?" 

The questions come rapidly, Ignis' voice drilling into his skull, all the words rattling around in his brain, blurring into one long jumble of sounds, and he can't pick them out individually and make sense of them. It makes his head throb and he doesn't like it. He feels even more sick. "Stop, stop, stop!" he manages to cry, and Ignis does. 

He takes a few breaths, wincing at the sharp pain in his chest that accompanies them. He just wants at least one part of his body to stop hurting... When he's done, he realises Ignis hasn't said any more since his questions, and the silence makes him afraid. Did Ignis hang up? He doesn't want to be alone again, everything aches and he wants to go home, and he needs Ignis for that. 

Panic erupts, and he grabs at his phone again, curling his fingers around it. "Ignis? Ignis, don' leave me." It's embarrassing how small and scared his voice comes out, but he doesn't care, clenching his phone tighter as he waits for an answer. 

There's a quiet, sharp inhale of breath, and then Ignis' voice comes, calm and comforting. "I'm here, Noct. Gladio and Prompto are here as well. We won't leave you." 

"'kay," he says, relaxing his grip on his phone. 

"Noct, we want to find you and help you, but we need some idea of your location. Can you recall _anything_ about your probable location, or what has happened?" 

"No." 

"Please, try to think. It's important." 

He tries, if only to make Ignis happy, but his head's so fuzzy, and it hurts, and he can't. "Don' 'member," he mumbles, and hears Ignis let out an annoyed breath. It makes him feel bad. He wishes he could remember. He doesn't want Ignis to be annoyed with him. He just wants to be found. 

"What _is_ the last thing you remember?" It's Gladio's voice, confusing him as it cuts in, and it's booming way too loud, his head pounding at every word. 

"No," he moans out. "Shhh." 

There's a moment of silence, and then Ignis' voice comes, mercifully easier on the ache in his head. "Noct, please tell us what you recall last." 

Noct closes his eyes, weariness creeping over him. This conversation has already exhausted him, and he wants to sleep again. But if he does, he won't be able to help his friends find him. He yawns, forcing his eyes back open, determined to stay awake and give them some useful information. "Wen' to Prom'to's. Played games... came home? Wen' to bed." 

"That was—" Prompto's voice starts, but Ignis hushes him, cutting him off before he can finish the thought. 

"I realise, Prompto." 

"How bad is this concussion?" Gladio's voice rumbles over the phone again, quieter this time. 

"Memory loss indicates a grade three, the most severe level." 

They're talking among themselves, the switching of voices disconcerting to Noct, and most of it's going over his head at the moment anyway, his mind not willing to pay attention through the haze if they're not addressing him, and he slides his eyes shut again, still wanting sleep. When he's asleep, he can escape the pain, and all the fear and worry about his situation. 

"Noct, are you inside or outside?" 

It takes him a few repeats of the question to realise he's being addressed again. Groaning, he opens his eyes once more, fighting against the drowsiness. He'd been halfway to sleep. "Inside," he tells Ignis, when he can make his brain function enough again. "'s wood floor. 'n walls. 'n the hole." 

"Yes, you mentioned the hole before. Where is the hole located?" 

Noct raises his eyes, looking at it again. Like before, it sets something off in his mind, but whatever it is stays maddeningly _just_ out of reach. "Up. The top." 

"What else can you tell us?" 

"Dunno." 

"The top? What does that mean?" Prompto says, somewhere in the background, and Noct zones out again as they pause to have a conversation with each other. His eyes feel so heavy, and it's so hard to stay awake... 

"Noct!" It's Ignis, his tone sharp and urgent, and Noct jerks his head, a small whimper slipping out as the movement triggers more intense pounding, nausea rising up again. He swallows hard and tries not to be sick. 

It takes a minute, but once he feels he can open his mouth without spewing out his entire stomach contents, he speaks. "Huh?" 

"I need to know what injuries you have." 

Noct frowns. It's hard to think, and even harder to remember things right now, but he feels certain he told Ignis this once already. Didn't he? Or was that a dream? It all feels so hazy. "Head," he says, putting effort into speaking again, so that Ignis will get it this time. "Arm. Sides—" 

"Noct, yes, I know, but _how_. What about them hurts?" 

Oh. Now he understands what Ignis wants. That's harder to answer though, because he isn't sure for most of it himself. "I think—think my arm is broken," he says slowly, resisting the urge to move it and look at it to be sure. "Right one. Hurts to move it." 

"What else?" 

Gods, it's so hard to concentrate. Why does this matter? It's not going to help Ignis find him. "Chest," he says. "It's sore. Hurts to breathe deep." 

"Bruised or broken ribs, perhaps," Ignis says softly, and Noct can tell he isn't saying it to him, so he stays quiet until Ignis addresses him again. "You mentioned one of your legs earlier." 

Had he? Maybe the first time. "Left one. It hurts." 

"Do you know what is causing the pain?" 

Noct doesn't. It's been radiating pain non-stop, as if someone took the hammer they'd used on his head and started slamming it down on his leg instead and have yet to stop. He's been doing his best to ignore it, to let it stay in the background as much as he can, because he hasn't the slightest idea what's wrong with it and the thought of trying to find out terrifies him. 

But... he wants to be helpful to Ignis in some way. His head's so foggy, nothing's clear and he can't give Ignis anything to help find him... He doesn't know how this will help, but Ignis wants to know about his injuries and if it's useful at all... Well, he can do his best to swallow down his fear and find out. "Wait," he says into the phone. "Gotta sit up." He picks it up, moving it further down, setting it somewhere on top of his right leg. 

There's no way to keep his right arm completely still, but he does his best to move it as little as possible, and braces himself with his left one, putting his palm flat on the floor, up towards his shoulder as much as possible, and uses as much of his upper body strength as he can manage to start trying to pull himself into a sitting position. 

That turns out to be a bad idea. His head swims, the motion making him sick, the pain intensifying into something intolerable, and before he can process it's going to happen he's throwing up, vomit bubbling up his throat and forcing its way out of his mouth, the disgusting taste of acid and bile hitting his taste buds, and it hurts, his throat's on fire as it just keeps going and going, raw and burning until he's praying to whatever Astral will listen to make it stop. 

He manages to turn the upper half of his body to the side enough so that he's not choking on it, but some of it gets on his shoulder, the rancid smell of it drifting up to him, and it makes him gag, triggering even more. Every surge of it makes his head throb fiercely, and tears and sweat soak his face uncomfortably. 

He wants his dad. He hurts so much, and it's dark and creepy and a little cold and he's alone and lost and _he wants his dad_ , he wants to go _home_ , to where Ignis and Gladio and Prompto are all waiting for him and he can be safe and warm in his apartment, curled up in his bed with his dad by his side comforting him, and far away from here and everything that's happening to him... He wants it so badly his chest aches, and he wishes he could just break down and cry. 

Eventually the vomit slows, turning into dry-heaves, and then that too stops, leaving him worn-out and in even more pain than before. His phone's still on his leg, and his friends have probably heard every second of him turning his guts inside out, but Noct leaves them to worry for a few more minutes. He's going to sit up even if it kills him. 

He's already a mess of pain, so he very slowly lifts his right arm, gritting his teeth at the sharp bolts of agony that immediately shoot out from his wrist, moving it carefully to let it rest gently against his chest. He's gasping through his clenched teeth by the time it's settled, more sweat rolling down the sides of his face, but he braces his left hand once more against the floor and tries again to pull himself up, taking it easier this time, making sure to keep his broken arm in the same place as he moves. 

It's several slow, miserable minutes, but at last he's up, even if he's breathing heavily and there are more tears of pain trailing down his cheeks. The first thing he notices isn't his injuries, but that he's not lying on solid floor... rather he's on a mess of broken boards, more small pieces scattered around him, along with what looks like chunks of plaster, and he's covered in a fine white dust. It sets off another spark in his brain, but like before, it stays out of reach. He stares at the mess briefly, but he can't make any sense of it, so he gives up and goes back to his injuries. 

He first takes a moment to inspect his hurt arm. His hand is hanging limp from his wrist, which is bent oddly, and even in the dim moonlight it's visibly swollen and bruised, the skin a dark purplish colour. It's definitely broken, but he doesn't see bone poking out anywhere, so it's probably not too serious. Probably. Hopefully. 

His left arm is fine other than being scratched and a little sore, so Noct turns his attention to his leg, to the one that's been hurting all this time. His jeans are ripped, the fabric in tatters on _both_ legs, huge swathes of it missing entirely, but he doesn't really care about that. He notes absently that his right leg is scraped up badly, bruised and sore, but he doesn't care much about that either. He's focused entirely on the other one. 

His left leg is... wrong. He doesn't have any other word for it. Like his wrist, there's bruising and swelling on the parts of his skin that are visible, but beyond that, it's... it's not just that it's broken, it's _wrong_. 

The sight of it makes him feel sick, acid in his mouth again, and he has to swallow hard, not wanting to throw up a second time. His throat still aches. He reaches his left hand out, towards the wrongness, but then draws back again, unwilling to touch it, his breathing getting faster as panic builds. 

There's an open wound on the lower half, dried blood caked around it, and the skin is shredded and torn up in a lot of places, but what scares him the most is the way his skin is being pushed oddly up in places, and there's what he's pretty sure is actual _bone_ poking through the wound. He stares at it for long minutes, eyes wide, feeling dizzy, and then as if in a trance he reaches his hand back out, to the spot just above the wound where the skin's tented. 

He's careful to use a gentle touch, but it still feels as if he just beat his fist down as hard as he could on the bone. He cries out, eyes watering, both hands moving to cradle his leg on instinct. The pain in his wrist explodes again, piling on top of the pain in his leg, and he can't even manage a yell this time, just a loud gasp as his vision whites out briefly, and then he starts crying in earnest, quiet sobs shuddering out of him. Fear and frustration are choking him, and he _wants to go home_. 

His ringtone begins to play, reminding him that he was on the phone, and after a few confused moments of wondering how he's being called when he never hung up, he manages to answer, jabbing at the speaker phone. 

"Noct?" 

"Ignis, Ignis, my leg's wrong, it's all wrong, it's messed up, I want my dad, I just want to go home, Ignis—" He's babbling, the pain and his agitation making his words blend together in a barely comprehensible mess, interrupted frequently by the gasping cries tearing from him, but the more he looks at his leg, the higher his terror and panic climbs, and he can't keep a lid on the emotions. 

Gradually he registers that all three of his friends are shouting his name, and he slows his incoherent jumble of noises that can't even be called words at this point, his sobs quieting into something softer and less desperate sounding. "Ignis," he says, more clearly this time. 

His friends stop yelling, Ignis sighing out in relief. "Noct," he says, keeping his voice soothing, "everything will be fine. Do you understand? We _will_ find you." 

"Yeah, buddy." It's Prompto, chiming in with his usual cheerful optimism. "We're gonna find you and fix you right up! So don't worry!" 

He wipes at his tears, wanting so badly to believe in that. "My leg," he says, taking as deep a breath as he can manage before he glances at it again. The bone's still sticking out, and he's not certain, but the leg itself almost looks as if it's shorter than his right one. It's possible—he _hopes_ —it's just his eyes playing tricks on him. 

"Can you tell me what's wrong with it?" 

"'s—'s wrong." He's trying to stay calm, but anxiety's settled in his gut, and he thinks he might be sick again. 

"Wrong how?" Gladio asks. 

Crying has done his head no favours, and it aches badly, making it hard to focus on the words he wants to say. "Bone," he says. "'s out. Outta my leg." 

"Out of his leg? Oh man," Prompto says, and his voice sounds as queasy as Noct feels. 

"It's visible? Through a wound?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Compound fracture," Ignis says, and even with how terrible he feels, it amuses Noct that he's still a fount of information for the others. "Infection's a concern." 

"'nfection?" Noct doesn't like the sound of that. 

"It's nothing to worry about yet," Ignis tells him. "And we will do our best to locate you before it has reason to be a concern." 

"What if 's ruined?" He can't handle the thought of that. He'd lived through that fear once, during that horrible time he'd been in Tenebrae, stuck in the wheelchair, Luna's mom doing her best to heal him, terrified he'd never be able to walk again. 

Prompto interrupts him, distracting him from the fear. "Your leg?" 

"Yeah." 

"No way, kid. Doctor's just gotta set it, you'll be in cast and crutches for awhile, but it'll heal up fine." 

"Gladio is correct. A compound fracture often looks worse than it is." 

Noct clings to that, desperately wanting to believe it. He doesn't want to have to learn how to walk for a third time, or be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. "Hurts." 

"I know, kid." 

"Now that you are upright, is there any more you can tell us about your surroundings?" 

"Uh—" He pauses a moment to look around, grateful for something to focus on other than his leg. "There's... desks? An' chairs. Bunch of 'em. Lotsa papers on the floor too. Trash. Windows..." He spots what looks to be a doorway off to the right, and wonders if he could get himself over to it somehow. If it goes outside, he could get a better idea of where he is. Then Ignis could find him. And he could go home, to his dad and his bed. "Hang on." 

"Noct, wait—" 

He ignores Ignis, bracing his left hand once more against the ground as he cradles his right arm against his chest. Then he takes a deep breath and grits his teeth as he starts trying to scoot himself towards the door in tiny movements. 

It hurts. It hurts _a lot_. He's acutely aware of every tiny bump and jolt to his broken leg, the pain in it intensifying until it feels like he's got molten lava there, and his stomach rolls threateningly as the ache in his head gets worse again, his vision blurring from the strength of it. He can't hold back a quiet moan, breath harshening, trying to keep going through it all, but he only manages to make it off the broken boards and onto the actual floor before he's throwing up again, unable to handle it. 

Mercifully, it doesn't last as long as the first time, there being little left in his stomach now to vomit. When it's finished, he slumps over, eyes fluttering, completely exhausted. "Wanna sleep," he slurs into the phone. 

There's quiet for a moment before Ignis speaks. "You have a concussion, Noct, and without knowing what other injuries to your brain have possibly occurred, sleep is not a good idea." 

There's probably sense in Ignis' words, but Noct is too worn out mentally and physically to focus on them. "Sleep," he whines around a yawn, and then closes his eyes as everything fades away again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three out of eight chapters end with noct passing out/falling asleep. lol.
> 
> thank you for reading! and thank you for all the kudos/comments/bookmarks/follows. you guys are awesome <3 feel free to drop me a comment on this chapter if you wish!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be 4:30AM for me, but at least it's still Saturday and I'm posting on time! I'm sure it's a more reasonable hour for some of you.

It takes Ignis several moments before he can force himself to end the call, loathe to lose the only connection he has to Noct at the moment. However, without knowing how long it will take to locate him, it is imperative to save his phone's battery power as much as possible, so with much reluctance he taps at the proper button before handing the phone back to Prompto.

Silence reigns, all of them avoiding each others' eyes, and then Prompto voices what they're all thinking. "What if we can't find him?" 

"Shit," Gladio says immediately. "We're gonna." His voice isn't as confident as his words, however, and it makes something inside Ignis' stomach twist unpleasantly. 

He hesitates a moment, hating how out of his depth he feels. He wants to be able to handle this himself, but they're getting nowhere and time is slipping like sand between their fingers. "I believe you were right earlier, Gladio. It's time—past time, rather—to get the Crownsguard and His Majesty in on this." 

The more he speaks, the more his conviction to call them in strengthens. "The concussion is concerning enough, but a compound fracture doubly so. If an infection gets in the wound and sets in the bone, it can cause long-term or even permanent complications, provided it doesn't kill him before we can find him. We can no longer afford to worry about a potential media circus, or even how our visitors from Accordo might be affected. We've tried and failed to find him ourselves, therefore, we need the help." 

Gladio sighs, scrubbing a tired hand over his face. "I'm not so sure I was right. You know most of them have been pulled away from their usual posts for security detail. A quick tracking of his phone would have been one thing, but devoting manpower to this ain't gonna be easy. All the night shift's scheduled to have a big meeting to reaffirm security details again in about..." he pauses, pulling out his own phone. "Ten minutes. Both my dad and Cor are gonna be there, and I don't trust taking this to anyone else. And this is the last thing the king needs to be worrying about right now, he's got enough on his plate. We just gotta keep searching." 

"Searching? And where has that led us to? No, that is no longer a viable option. We have too little to go on. Noct is still unable to give us any useful information about his location." Ignis does his best to keep his voice calm and patient, not wanting to let his frustration with the situation leak through. It won't serve any purpose, and will only get Gladio riled up. 

Truthfully, however, they should have called the Crownsguard in sooner. How foolhardy of them to think they could find Noct on their own. They've wasted precious hours and have gotten no further than they had when Ignis first spoke to him on the phone and realised something was wrong. He'd made the wrong decision and he wishes it had not taken him this long to understand that. 

Though he does find an odd sort of humour in knowing their positions about the Crownsguard have switched, and he understands Gladio's reluctance, certainly. It's the same reluctance he'd felt earlier, _still_ feels niggling a little at the back of his mind. The importance of this banquet and their visitors has been stressed for months, and with Accordo still having to answer to Niflheim's rule, keeping the alliance from seeming _too_ friendly is imperative. No one quite trusts that Niflheim won't take the opportunity to try something, or for something to be tried against their visitors, no matter how unwarranted that suspicion may seem. Security is tight, and the need for it to remain in place at all times equally as imperative. 

Only, this isn't a minor issue they're discussing. This is Noct, the Crown Prince and only heir to the royal Insomnian throne, and their dear friend besides. Exceptions would be made for him in a heartbeat, as well they should. He'd thought earlier that Noct should be the priority, and he believes that once the Crownsguard are alerted, he _will_ be. Ignis let his hesitation and foolish arrogance in his own ability hold him back, and he regrets it now. 

"He gave us some info. He could still give us more." 

Prompto sneezes before Ignis can speak, and then several more times in succession, forcing him to wait. It gives him a chance to take a deep breath and keep himself from saying something he'll want to take back later. "I believe we all heard his fit of vomiting. He is in severe pain. I am not going to put him through even more on the chance that he _may_ be able to give us more information." Ignis frowns in displeasure as Prompto wipes at his nose with his shirt, momentarily distracted from the conversation. 

Gladio rolls his eyes and leans forward, snagging the tissue box from the coffee table and handing it across to Prompto. "Here kid, try these." 

"Thanks," Prompto mumbles, pulling one from the box. "Sorry, it's just a stupid cold..." 

A sudden thought occurs to Ignis. "Did you have this cold when Noct came to visit you yesterday afternoon?" 

Prompto nods, too busy blowing his nose to answer out loud. 

"As far as I'm concerned, that's merely another point in favour of bringing the Crownsguard and His Majesty in. There's a good chance Noct will have caught Prompto's cold. He's been more susceptible to common illnesses ever since—" Ignis stops abruptly, uncertain if Noct has ever mentioned the marilith attack to Prompto. It seems unlikely. 

Thankfully Gladio carries on before Prompto catches the slip. "And what do you expect the Crownsguard to do? Sit around, like we're doing now, thumbs up our asses 'cause we've got no idea where he's at? All we'll accomplish is worrying His Majesty." 

"Uh, guys?" Prompto interrupts, and his voice is surprisingly forceful. Ignis looks at him, eyebrows raised. He's got his hand clenched around a crumpled up ball of tissue, squeezing it as he bites at his lip briefly, but he's looking at them both with determination. "Maybe we should tell His Majesty 'cause he's Noct's dad? And he'd want to know that his son is hurt and missing, 'cause that probably matters more than the entire kingdom to him." 

Sudden shame and embarrassment sweep over Ignis upon hearing those words, and there's silence in the room for a moment as they process the statement. He really is far too used to handling things himself, it's often what is expected of him after all, but in this, Prompto is correct. To King Regis, everything will pale in importance when compared to his love of Noct, and concern for his wellbeing. That is always his utmost priority, and should have been theirs from the start as well. Politics should mean little when it comes to immediate threats on Noct's life, and he's mortified to have taken them into consideration at all. 

He feels suddenly, pathetically grateful for Prompto's insistence on coming over tonight. His worry for Noct and the familiar habits of independence have been clouding his judgement. He's positive now that calling the Crownsguard in is the right thing to do, and has been all along. 

"Aw crap," Gladio says, rubbing at his neck. "You're right. Let's call." 

Ignis nods, and pulls out his phone. 

* * *

Noct wakes up sweating and shivering at the same time. It's a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. He wipes at his face, wincing at the stings that flare, fingers running across various scrapes on his forehead and cheeks. Is there any part of him that isn't damaged somewhere? 

He's still slumped over, so he straightens up some, ignoring the twinge in his back at the movement. Everything hurts still, but he's a little more clear-headed than he's been the previous times he was conscious. He fumbles around on his leg for his phone, wanting to try checking the time, but a sudden tickle in his throat has him launching into a fit of harsh coughs that wrack his whole body, all his pains igniting into something hot and burning, every shudder agony to his legs and arm and back and hips and... 

When it finally stops he does his best to sit still, breathing harshly, throat and chest aching badly as he struggles to get a full breath. For a long moment he's confused, wondering what set off the cough, and then he remembers—Prompto was sick when they hung out earlier. He's probably caught his best friend's cold. 

Noct sighs, grabbing again for his phone. The Caelum line is supposed to have near immunity to most common ailments, due to the magic flowing through their bodies. He had too, as a child. Then that daemon attacked him, damaging him and infecting him, and now it sometimes seems like he can get sick at the drop of a hat, far quicker than the average person. He hates it. It's just another thing that makes him feel like he's going to be a huge disappointment whenever he becomes king. 

His phone lights up as he finally finds the button, telling him it's nearly two in the morning, though it takes a lot of squinting and staring to read the large numbers, and he's not sure he has them right. He can't remember how long he's been here. Ignis had said on the phone at one point, but between the pain and the fogginess in his head, that information has long since flown from his memory. 

He briefly considers calling Ignis, but there doesn't seem to be any point. He has no new information about his location, and though he really just wants to hear Ignis' voice and be reassured that he's not alone, he probably needs to preserve his phone's battery. His blurring vision makes it impossible to tell what percent it's at, but if he has to be here for several more hours... 

Noct shudders at that, fear coiling up in his belly. Sunrise is around six. If he has to be stuck in this building in the dark for another four hours, all by himself, sick and in pain... A lot could happen in that time, and he doesn't know how serious his injuries are... what if he's dying? What if he's got internal injuries, and he's been slowly bleeding out all this time? 

The fear coils up even tighter, cramping his gut and making him feel sick. He can feel his heart beating a little faster as images begin filling his mind—his body collapsing back to the floor in pain and weakness, slowly fading away as death takes an icy grip on him, flesh eventually rotting away into bone as he stays here forever alone and undiscovered. 

"No," he says in a sudden harsh whisper, half just to hear a voice and half in an attempt to banish the images. "Specs is gonna find me." He's _not_ going to die here alone. Ignis _will_ find him, he promised, and Noct's going to do whatever he can to make it easier for him. 

He needs to get to the door. It might lead outside, giving him an idea of where in the city he's at, and that's the best shot he's got right now. And maybe there will be people outside, someone who might walk by and help him. 

But... the pain was immense last time, and he's afraid of trying again. If he could just... brace his broken bones somehow, keep them from moving so much... Well, Gladio did teach him how to make a splint, at the height of his survivalist obsession, but Noct's not sure he can make one. He definitely can't touch his leg, and doing his arm with only one hand—the non-dominant one at that—might be difficult. Not to mention the lack of proper materials. 

He looks over at the door again, yearning filling him. He just wants to be out and away from here, to get somewhere safe, to his home and to his dad and his friends... "Gotta try," he mutters. 

Determination takes over, and he grabs at the scattered pieces of broken board around him, pulling a few towards him that are a small enough size. What he really needs is cardboard, to completely immobilise his arm, but even just reducing the movements will be better than nothing. He gets momentarily stumped on what he can use for ties, and glances around helplessly, until his gaze falls on his ruined jeans. 

With a lot of concentration and more rising nausea, he manages to retrieve the only thing in his Armiger—a small dagger, a gift from Ignis for his fifteenth birthday. He has to hunch over and grab the strips in his teeth and then saw at them with the dagger in his left hand, but eventually he's got a few separated. 

It's easy enough to slip a piece of board under his right wrist, though it hurts like hell, but it's much harder to hold another piece on top, and then tie the fabric strips around his arm. He tries several times, but with only one hand to use it proves impossible, the boards constantly slipping and the fabric fluttering frequently to the ground. 

Finally he concedes defeat, tears rimming his eyes as he hurls one of the pieces of board across the room. It makes his shoulder ache, but the satisfaction of watching it fly through the air is worth it. He throws the other one, vision blurring more as tears start to drip down his cheeks. 

This whole thing is stupid. He doesn't even know why he's here! He searches his memory again, trying hard to bring forth the circumstances that led to him being injured and alone in a building, but there's _nothing_. A few sobs slip from him, but he quickly bites down on his lip to stifle further ones. Crying is just going to hurt his head even more, and make his eyes feel hot and gritty and achy. He already feels hot enough, probably a fever, and he doesn't want to make it worse. 

His ringtone interrupts him, slowing his tears. He doesn't need to look at the display to know it's Ignis. He wants to answer it, to hear Ignis' voice, to have that reassurance again that he's going to be found, that everything's going to be okay. Instead, he ignores it. Talking to Ignis in his upset state is useless for them both, and he still has to get more info for him. 

Even without answering it, hearing the ringtone and knowing it's Ignis serves to calm him, and when he feels steady he checks his phone again, looking not for the time, but the day. _Sunday_ , the phone says, and he stares at the large block letters in disbelief, swiping his fingers slowly over the screen, as if that would somehow magically morph the lettering into something that makes more sense. 

He's been thinking the last day in his memory is Thursday night. Has he really lost _two_ entire days? But then... he'd assumed that because he has no memory of the banquet, and he must have gone, meaning he went to Prompto's on Thursday. Only he remembers picking up his suit with Ignis on Thursday, and he wouldn't have skipped school to spend all day at Prompto's anyways. 

Was that Friday? Did he really miss the banquet? His sense of time's still confused, and he doesn't think he'd miss something so important, even if things have been stressful for him lately, but he can't imagine losing all memory since Thursday night, either, if it's Sunday morning... 

He can feel panic attempting to build, wondering if his brain's more fucked up than he'd thought, and maybe he's lost even _more_ time than that, but he pushes it away. He's not going to think about it now. He doesn't have time to break down again. He needs to get to that door. 

He still wishes he could get some splints somehow, but that's not going to happen, so he's just going to have to accept it and suffer through the pain. It takes him a long, long moment to brace himself, and several painful deep breaths to convince himself he can handle it, but once he feels ready, Noct presses his left hand flat against the floor and begins to slowly scoot. 

* * *

"He's not answering." Ignis lowers the phone as he stares at all the faces around him, the same frustration he feels reflected back at him in their expressions. 

He and Gladio had moved from Noct's apartment to a meeting room in the Citadel at Cor's request, after having alerted both the Crownsguard and His Majesty to Noct's situation. Prompto had stayed behind, as he lacked proper security clearance to be allowed in the Citadel. Even if he were allowed in, he still would be unable to sit in on this, given he's not any part of the Crownsguard or directly related to the royal family. He'd heavily protested being left out, arguing his position for several minutes, but Ignis still suspects not as much as he might have—knowing the king _and_ several Crownsguard would be there had probably been an intimidating enough deterrent. 

It had almost been enough of a deterrent for Ignis as well. He had let Gladio deal with the Crownsguard, but he'd handled the king himself, quite a daunting prospect. But though Regis himself would probably insist otherwise, Ignis knows he'd owed it to him. He'd promised long ago to take care of Noct; therefore, it's the least he ought to do to personally let the king know when he's broken that promise. 

Regis had taken the news surprisingly well, thanking him for informing him and issuing orders immediately, though Ignis wonders if he'd privately broken down once he'd ended the call. Although perhaps he believes the situation is not yet dire enough to panic over, or else all his years of training has allowed him to stay calm. Regardless, keeping a level head is likely for the best. None of them will be any help to Noct if they fall apart now. 

"We'll need to try and track his phone through GPS, since the usual method is not available," Cor says, and Ignis looks away at the stern reproach in his voice. They haven't been at the Citadel long—enough for them to explain to the handful of gathered Crownsguard what they know, which felt like even less than it actually is when they were laying it all out, and for Ignis to try calling Noct's phone as well. 

And, of course, for the marshal to lecture Ignis on allowing Noct to carry around an unsecured phone for a few days, and for not alerting him to the prince's status immediately, _and_ for being arrogant enough to assume he knew better than the Crownsguard—he'd felt like a thoroughly chastised child by the end of the stern tirade. The tips of his ears are in fact still a bit heated in embarrassment at having been dressed down in front of everyone, though he can't deny deserving it. He's only grateful the king didn't lecture him as well. 

It's also embarrassing that he hadn't once considered GPS tracking. He'd been so caught up in the fact that Noct's phone was new and didn't have all the usual precautions on it that he didn't even think about other methods. GPS will be mostly accurate, and with luck it will allow them to bring Noct home soon. Ignis will have let him suffer in pain for hours due solely to his own idiocy. That knowledge leaves shame to sink heavily down into his stomach. 

"Tell me again what we know of his location," Regis says, and the tiredness in his voice sparks new guilt in Ignis. He wishes he had more information. Regis has so much on his plate already, not only with the visit from Accordo and the goings-on in Insomnia, but just with what maintaining the Wall takes from him. He hasn't been able to walk unassisted for a few months now, and the toll it's taken on him is visible in every line etched deep into his face, and the dark shadows rimmed underneath his eyes. He's certain that if it weren't for needing to keep up a regal image for his men, the king would be slumped over in exhaustion as well. 

"Very little," Ignis says, doing his best to keep his tone steady and professional, and let none of his current self-flagellating feelings show through. "His Highness informed us that he was inside a building, with walls and a wood floor, that it was dark, and that he could see desks, chairs, and windows. There was also a hole, of which he stated its location first as 'up' and then clarified with 'the top.' There was nothing else." 

"An office building of some sort, perhaps?" Clarus muses, glancing across the table to His Majesty. "Though I can't fathom why he would be in one..." 

"Could also be his school," Gladio says. "They got desks there. And at least some of the building's got wood floors. Maybe he went there after his argument with Iggy to cool down, and something happened to him. Fell down some stairs or somethin', maybe." 

Clarus frowns. "Would it not be immediately apparent to him if he were in his school building?" 

"Possibly not, given his seemingly severe concussion and lack of memory for the past day's events," Ignis says. "And of course it is nighttime. The dark has a way of making even the most familiar look unknown to a person." 

"His Highness has disabled his GPS," Cor says, cutting into their conversation, and Ignis feels his stomach drop instantly at the words. Their best hope for finding Noct has just been washed down the drain. 

"Why would he disable it?" 

"To avoid me," Ignis says quietly, answering the king's question before anyone else can. "He must have assumed I'd attempt to track him through it this afternoon, and wished to not be found." It makes him feel sick, a sour taste filling his mouth. He and Noct have had their differences of late, and Ignis can admit to himself that perhaps some of his words have been more harsh than he'd intended, but that Noct would not only run out on him, but to go so far as to disable his GPS to avoid him... 

This entire situation is his fault. He'd chased Noct away with his cruel words about his father, and now he is to blame for Noct's current pain. He isn't one to generally hate himself, but he welcomes the tendrils of self-loathing currently taking up residence in his heart. He deserves no less for this. 

"Dammit." The word's spoken calmly enough, but still fraught with emotion, and it draws Ignis' attention back to the table, across to Gladio. He looks as if he wants to put his fist through a wall—Ignis has seen that expression accompany such actions many a time. "Kid knows better than to do that," he continues, irritation leaking through the calm. 

Clarus leans over, putting a hand down on his shoulder, holding him steady. "Yes, he does, but it's already happened, and getting angry will not solve anything. Calm yourself, Gladiolus." 

For a moment, it looks to Ignis as if Gladio will argue, and he braces himself for the coming tension, aware that His Majesty is doing the same next to him, but then Gladio's shoulders droop as all the fight seems to drain out of him. "Yes sir. You're right. Sorry." 

Cor ignores their sidetracking entirely, continuing as if there hadn't been any interruptions. "We can triangulate his phone, using the last three towers his signal bounced off to give us a circular radius of his location, but it will take some time. In the meantime, his school seems like the best option. We can send out our small team here to check for him there." 

"We'll need permissions, and access to the school," Clarus says, getting up from his seat to join the marshal and the other Crownsguard at the computers. "A medic as well, for anything needing immediate attention, should he be there." 

Ignis tunes out their conversation, unable to focus on the technical details of their planning at the moment. Despite his words to Gladio, gut feeling tells him Noct is not at his school. If he was there, he would have recognised it. He must have. Even in the dark. He's spent too much time there not to, surely. And Ignis can't think of a single reason for him to have been there on a late Saturday afternoon in the first place. 

He lets out a small sigh, retrieving his phone from his pocket. He first texts Prompto, giving him an update to the situation. He'd been much more agreeable to staying behind once Ignis had promised to do so. 

_Noct has disabled his GPS on his phone. Cor is going to triangulate his phone's signal against the last three towers it pinged, to give us an idea of his location. He's also sending a team out to Noct's school._

Prompto sends back a bunch of frowning faces. _y the school?_

Ignis resists the urge to lecture Prompto on spelling his words out properly. This is not the time. _He's in a place with desks and chairs. The school is a possibility._

_oh. kay! keep me updated pls! I hope they find him._

Ignis shakes his head at the amount of worried emojis that follow after that sentence, but sends back a simple _As do I._

That done, he makes another call to Noct, but once again there is no answer. He listens with growing frustration as the voicemail picks up, the automated voice telling him to leave a message. It's not Noct's voice; he hadn't taken the time yet to record a personalised message. That he can't even have Noct's voice this way is unfair, and he has to resist a sudden urge to throw his phone across the room, the way Noct still sometimes throws things in his anger. 

He _does_ set his phone down on the table in front of him with a little more force than necessary, causing the king to turn in his seat and look at him. "Apologies," he murmurs, feeling his face heat up. 

Regis gives him a sad smile. "None necessary, Ignis. I'm certain none of us are at our best right now." He reaches over, grabbing the phone and holding it out to Ignis. "Don't give up." 

"I'm afraid I let my temper get the better of me. It's rather difficult not knowing how and where he is at the moment," Ignis confesses as he takes his phone back, and then feels like quite the idiot, because of course the king would be feeling that more than anyone. "I'm certain you know that feeling as well," he adds then, trying to save a little face. 

"Ah, yes, I believe I might be a little familiar with it," Regis says in a teasing tone, and Ignis has to admit to himself he's impressed that the king can manage to joke at a time like this—the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach keeps him from even considering so much as a single pun. "But I know my son, and Noctis is strong, stronger than most of the men in this room. He's survived far worse than this and come out on top, and at a much younger age. Wherever he is now, whatever he may be going through, I have faith that in the end he's going to be just fine. We'll find him, Ignis. We'll find him and we'll bring him home, no matter what it takes." 

There's a sudden lump in his throat that keeps him from speaking, so Ignis merely nods. Though he's been saying the same thing all night long, there's comfort in hearing the words from someone else, and especially from someone who has much higher emotional stakes in this than he does. Whatever he feels for Noct, the love Regis has for his son must be a hundred times stronger, and Ignis can't even begin to imagine the depth of grief and worry he must be going through. And yet he can still find it in himself to reassure the person who failed to protect his son in the first place. 

His attention's caught as the Crownsguard begin to leave, ready to head out to Noct's school—they're men Ignis doesn't really know, and though they'd been introduced he can't recall their names. A testament to how stressed he is; he's usually impeccable in remembering names and faces. If they find Noct, he'll make certain to learn every single one of them. 

* * *

It's a tense hour waiting for word, either from the Crownsguard or from Noct himself. Ignis tries calling him several more times, but each time he only gets the voicemail. It worries him that Noct is sleeping so much. He can't help but fear for the damage Noct might be doing to himself, depending on how badly his brain is injured. 

He thinks several times about starting a conversation, just to distract himself, but Regis and Clarus had went with the Crownsguard, so he's left with only Gladio and Cor, who had stayed behind to start the triangulation of Noct's cell phone signal. The marshal isn't one for idle chitchat, certainly not while he's working, and Gladio will be too stressed for regular conversation until Noct is found, not that he himself is much better. 

So he stays silent instead, lost in his thoughts and worry for Noct. He certainly knows better, but he's reached the 'if only' stage of his self-blame, and can't help inflicting them on himself. If only he had caught on to the fact that something more was bothering Noct. If only he hadn't taken Noct at face value and assumed he was continuing to deliberately act out because he was still upset over his father using a cane. If only he had backed off some, perhaps. If only he hadn't said those cold words about Noct's father. If only he'd gone after Noct when he'd first left... 

"Stop," Gladio says quietly, making Ignis blink and look up in confusion. 

"Pardon?" he asks, not sure if Gladio was directing that at him. 

"I can see it in your face, Iggy. You're blaming yourself for this. But it ain't your fault. It's not even Noct's, even if he made some questionable choices about his safety. But we can't see into the future, and whatever happened exactly, it's just a stupid accident nobody could predict. It coulda happened to any of us, at any time. So whatever you're thinking in that way too serious head of yours, knock it off." 

It should make him angry, being called out by the guy who blames himself if Noct gets even the slightest scratch during training, whether he had anything to do with it or not. But it doesn't. It makes him feel strangely relieved. If _Gladio_ is telling him it isn't his fault, then perhaps Ignis truly has no reason to blame himself. And deep down, he had already known that Gladio's words are true. He perhaps just needed to hear them said out loud. "Thank you," he says softly. 

Gladio nods. "Anytime." 

"We've got a radius," Cor says, and they both get up, hurrying over to the computers. 

"That's a wide area," Gladio says. 

Ignis swallows, stomach sinking again as he looks at the circled area on the map. Gladio isn't wrong. That wide of an area will require either a lot of manpower or a lot of hours to search, neither of which they easily have at the moment. And... "His school's not in it." 

"No," Cor agrees. "It's just outside the area, although triangulation isn't completely accurate, so it's possible he _is_ actually there. We'll still need to wait for word. But it may be good to consider other places in this radius he might have gone." 

"Office buildings? I can't think of any he would have reason to be at." 

"Maybe the library?" Gladio offers, though he sounds doubtful of his own words. "It's in the radius, and they've got computer desks." 

"Surely he'd mention all the books as well, and how would he be so severely injured there and yet go completely unnoticed?" Ignis counters. An office building sounds unlikely, certainly, but a library sounds absurd. 

Gladio shrugs. "I don't know, hid until after hours, and then came out and got hurt somehow?" 

"They have cameras. Noct isn't that stupid," Ignis says flatly. "And why would he feel a need to hide out in a library until they've closed? There's no logical reason for that." 

"Perhaps it would be easier if we look at what's in the radius, and see if anything catches our eyes," Cor says, interrupting their argument before it can get heated. 

"Very well," Ignis says, at the same time Gladio offers, "Yeah, okay." 

They spend the next half hour searching, looking up buildings they're unfamiliar with and trying to decide if Noct would have reason to venture forth into any of them. They come up blank, because Noct generally never has reason to go into offices, not on his own free time. Wherever he went, it was likely a random decision, and without Noct's input they'll never be able to figure it out just by looking at a map. 

By the time the team of Crownsguard out in the field check in, nearly an hour after they left, Ignis' eyes ache from staring so intently at the screen, hoping somehow that the map will magically reveal its secrets and give up Noct's location to them. 

"Report," Cor barks into his phone, hitting the speaker button. 

"Nothing, sir. We've checked the entire building from top to bottom. There's no sign of him, or any indication he was ever here today. Cameras don't have him entering the building either." 

Ignis takes a breath, then buries his head in his hands. He's both surprised and embarrassed to feel himself on the verge of tears. He'd expected the news even before Cor showed the school wasn't in the triangulation radius, so why is the confirmation hitting him so hard now? 

He needs Noct to be found. More than that, he needs Noct to be _fine_. Injured, most definitely, but nothing that can't be fixed with some medical attention and maybe a short hospital stay, or even Regis' magic if he's lucky. If anything were to happen to Noct permanently— 

Gods, he can't bear that thought. Noct is everything to him. They've grown up alongside each other almost their entire lives, been there for each other through all of the best and worst times... Noct isn't just a prince to him, and Ignis isn't just his advisor. He's not some sort of duty, or obligation, and he's certain Noct sees him as more than a servant. They're friends, but even more than friends, they're _family_ , blood be damned. There's a bond between them that transcends words, and he knows Noct feels it too, even if neither of them would ever speak of it. 

And Ignis almost lost him once. He doesn't want to go through anything like that a second time. All that uncertainty, that fear that Noct wouldn't pull through, that he'd forever be in that coma... and then once he'd woken, the fears were still there, only shifted to something new. Noct was _different_ ; he was quiet, he didn't initiate conversations, he didn't smile, he didn't laugh... he couldn't walk, and he had nightmares that left him screaming in the middle of the night at times. He'd gone to Tenebrae eventually, and Ignis had spent those months fearing Noct would come back as the same broken person that had left. 

He hadn't, but he wasn't the Noct of before either. Ignis loves him regardless, but sometimes he misses that smiling, happy little boy that Noct had once been. 

A hand comes down gently on his shoulder, startling him, and then Gladio's voice is rumbling soothingly at him. "Iggy, come on. Don't lose hope. We're gonna find him, okay? Just gotta keep it together until we do. Then you can fall apart as much as you want." 

Ignis blinks back his tears, lifting his head as he takes a few more deep breaths. "You're right," he says, and they both tactfully ignore the slight shake to his voice. "My apologies. Let's find him and bring him home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As said in the tags, this isn't how GPS works. It can still be used to locate your phone even if you have it turned off, exactly for situations like Noct's. But where would the fun in that be? Just imagine Insomnia developed their tech differently. They are a different world than us, after all.
> 
> Still super appreciating all the love for this fic! You guys make my day with all your kudos and comments and whatnot. And even you lurking silent readers who don't do any of that are appreciated <3 I know you exist, I was one of you for many years. At any rate, feel free to drop me a comment, as always. I love seeing your reactions :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not Saturday. Blame/thank squeem, they _really_ wanted more and I like to make my friends happy. I'll still be uploading my usual Saturday chapter too. This is just a bonus. Because squeem, and probably everyone else, is dying for Noct to get rescued sooner.

Everything hurts.

He oughta just make it his mantra, he's thought it so much in his head these past hours. But it's hard to focus on anything else when it feels like every inch of his body is screaming in agony. He's been scooting along the floor for what feels like _days_ , though logically he knows it can't have been—the last time he'd checked his phone, it was only around four in the morning. But every tiny movement has him gritting his teeth against a scream, and he has to stop and take rests frequently, panting harshly against the pain every time. 

Actually, a rest sounds good right now. Noct halts, swallowing against the rising nausea. He can _feel_ the broken bones in his leg shifting, and it makes him sick. He's so scared that his leg is never going to be right after this. He really doesn't want that. He just wants to be able to _walk_. Judging by his dad's current state of late—the memory of him on that television screen comes to mind, seeing that cane in his dad's hand, Prompto's voice ringing in his ears asking if he'd always used it, his eyes widening in sick disbelief, unable to tear himself away from the sight—he doesn't want that memory right now, but based on _that_ , mobility issues are in his future. He doesn't want to jumpstart them early by screwing up his leg before he's even king. His knee's already bad enough sometimes. 

He can feel a few tears building, but he does his best to blink them away. It's hard when he wants so desperately to give in and break down, though. Everything hurts. And he's uncomfortably hot, his face and back soaked in sweat that stings against all his cuts, his hair and shirt clinging to him, leaving him feeling sticky and gross. Especially when the sweat cools, and makes him shiver despite how hot he feels. He probably has a fever. Because he really needs something else to pile on top of all his existing injuries. 

Okay. He needs to get moving again. The door is definitely closer than it was before, meaning he's making progress, but it's still a good distance away. Taking a deep breath, and ignoring the sharp pain in his chest that sparks, Noct braces himself, clenching his teeth tight, and then begins to drag himself towards the door again. 

The pain in his leg had died down to a dull roar while he was resting, but now that he's moving again, it flares back up, broken bones shifting once more, grinding against each other. His vision blurs, darks spots floating in the peripherals of it, but he ignores it and keeps going, unable to prevent the small cries of pain that escape from him now and then. Another spider climbs across his hand, probably unable to get out of his way, and it takes everything in him not to jerk away on instinct, skin crawling at the feel of its legs skittering across his fingers. Man, he _hates_ bugs. 

He's just about ready for another break when he sneezes, several times in succession, disturbing the dust around and on him. Some of it flies into his mouth, irritating his throat, and then he's coughing violently, upper body straining with the force of them, everything aching. He curls his left hand against his stomach and hunches over, hoping that will keep him from shaking as much. 

By the time they stop he's exhausted, fatigue stealing over him and making him heavy. He wants so badly to sleep again, but he can't. Not until he gets to that damn door. His head swims dizzyingly, disorienting him, so he closes his eyes, but that makes it worse, giving him the sensation that he's falling over, and he's not so sure that isn't actually happening. If he falls, he's not sure he'll ever be able to sit back up. In a panic he slams his left hand down hard to the ground, wanting to brace himself and stay upright. 

Immediately, pain shoots through his hand, sharp and intense, the skin ripping apart as something pierces through his palm. A scream tears from his throat as his eyes fly open in shock. Instinct takes over and he begins to jerk his hand, trying to move it. His eyes are watering with the pain, but he doesn't care. He wants to get _away_ from whatever is causing it, he's in so much already, he doesn't want more, and it's throbbing so bad he just wants it to stop, he'll give anything... 

It takes him only a few panicked moments to realise that trying to pull his hand away is making it worse, so he stills himself and tries to calm down, face wet and chest still heaving. When he's ready Noct looks down, trying to see what has his hand trapped. 

He can't actually see it, but the end in his palm feels sharp and pointy, and if he had to guess, given his surroundings, he'd bet he's impaled himself on an old nail. The thought makes him feel queasy, and he can't keep from imagining the bloody hole that's now in his hand, but at least it hasn't gone all the way through. If he had to see something poking up through his hand he'd probably break down entirely. 

Slowly, he starts trying to slide his hand up, but the that makes the throbbing intensify, and he can't bear it. He looks back toward the door in frustration. He just wants to get over there... If he ever gets out of this building and makes a full recovery, he's never going to take his ability to walk for granted again. He's going to cherish every single door he walks through, and be grateful that he even can. 

"Okay Noct, just like a bandage," he mumbles to himself, and before he can think too hard about what he's doing, he yanks his hand up in one quick motion. It wrenches another scream from him, more tears of pain trickling down his cheeks, but then he's blessedly free, blood rushing down his wrist as the wound opens up. He cradles his hand against his chest, harsh breaths panting rapidly out of him, the urge to be sick building deep down in the pit of his stomach. 

After several minutes, the pain finally abates into more of a numb ache, and he carefully moves his hand out from his body, raising it up to inspect the wound. The dark makes it hard to see, but though there is a hole, it's small, and not too deep-looking. Blood's also still trickling out, but it's not too bad either. 

The pieces of fabric he'd ripped off for his wrist are still piled on his lap, so he scoops one up. He can't really tie it around his hand, having only the currently injured hand to work with, but he manages to clench his fist tight around it, ignoring the ache that sparks, and lets that stem the bleeding. It's not an ideal solution, but it's the best he can do. 

That done, Noct checks the floor for what he'd impaled himself on. It _is_ a nail, and holding his phone screen up to it shows it to be rusty. Great. Now he has to worry about infection from that too. "This sucks," he says out loud. He only wants to hear the sound of a voice, even if it has to be his own, but instead he frowns to hear the slight slur to his words. 

Well, it's not really that weird if they do. Ignis said he has a concussion, and Ignis is always right. And his head's been feeling worse again since he started trying to move across the floor, that intense, steady ache endlessly present, making him all woozy, thoughts scattering into something nonsensical occasionally. Television shows always made concussions seem like not a big deal, a minor thing that would go away overnight, but maybe that's not really the case. 

Noct sighs. He should really get back to his slow trek across the room, but he's so tired and everything hurts... He doesn't want to do any of this any more. It's too much, he's so tired... he just wants to lay his head back down and sleep again, just escape all this pain and misery and hope that when he wakes, his situation will be over. Everything hurts and he just can't... 

He doesn't realise his eyes have closed, his head lolling to one shoulder, until his phone rings, the sound making him jerk back to awareness. He glances down at it with bleary eyes, and he can't even read the screen anymore, so either he's more tired than he thought, or his head's definitely gotten worse. Still, he knows it's gonna be Ignis, so he jabs in the direction he knows the answer call button to be, and then again where the speaker button is. 

"Ignis," he says, making a face at how run together it sounds. It's like he has no control over his own words. 

"Noct," Ignis returns, and even in his groggy state, Noct can catch the relief in his voice. Perhaps he shouldn't have ignored all those previous calls. "Noct, we're with the Crownsguard now. Cor and Clarus are here. And His Majesty as well." 

"Dad?" 

"Yes, he's here. Hold on," Ignis says. 

Noct waits, closing his fingers tighter around the strip of fabric, and then his dad's voice greets him, far enough away to tell Noct he's also on speaker. "Noctis, son. How are you feeling?" 

It takes everything in him not to burst into tears like a small child at finally hearing his dad. It's not as good as his dad actually being here, but it's a start. He takes a couple of quick breaths, willing his tears back, and then speaks. "Been better." 

His dad lets out a quiet laugh, and Noct thinks maybe he's trying not to cry too. "I imagine so." 

"Everything hurts." It's an effort to speak clearly, and he knows he's not managing it as well as he would like, but he doesn't want to worry his dad even more. 

"Believe me, I would take away your pain if I could," his dad says. 

Noct doesn't like the sorrow he can hear in his dad's tone. It's too much like those days after he'd woken from his coma, and nothing was okay. His dad's grief then had been nearly tangible, and Noct had been glad to go to Tenebrae and get a break from it. "Wanna go home," he says, trying to change the subject. "Don' like it here. 's dark. An' there's bugs." 

"We're doing everything in our power to bring you home," and Noct's sure now that his dad is crying, or really close to it. 

"Don' cry," he tells him. "'s gonna be okay." That elicits a sob, and Noct can hear someone say _Your Majesty, come sit a minute_ , but he doesn't recognise the voice. 

A new voice speaks up, and it takes him a long minute to remember it's Cor's. Now that he's not moving, fatigue is drawing over him, making his brain feel even fuzzier, and the switch confuses him. "Your Highness, you've disabled the GPS on your phone. We need you to re-enable it." 

Noct frowns. He wants his dad to come back. His dad's sad, and he doesn't like that. He's gonna be okay. They're gonna find him and take him home, and then he'll be fine. "I dunno," he says, because he can't remember what Cor asked him. 

"Your Highness, you need to turn the GPS back on." 

For some reason, he's having trouble following the conversation. His head feels really hot, and he wants to sleep. "GPS?" 

"Yes, on your phone," Cor says. Noct likes that he sounds so patient. "You need to go in your settings and turn it back on." 

"'kay," he agrees. "You soun' nice. Not like Specs lately." Muffled laughter sounds in the background, and he wonders what's so funny. He looks down at his phone. He's gotta find the settings. "I can't go to settins." 

"Why not?" 

"'Cause 'm on the phone." 

"You can—" Cor starts, then cuts himself off. "Never mind. I'll hang up and call back in five minutes. You go in settings and turn that GPS back on." 

"No, wait!" Noct cries. "Don' leave me..." 

"Noct." It's Ignis' voice. He sounds hurt—he's using his stiff, _what you said hurt but I'm pretending I'm fine_ voice, Noct knows it anywhere—but he can't figure out why. "If you do this, we'll be able to bring you home soon." 

Noct likes the sound of that—he really, really wants to go home. Everything hurts and he's so tired. "Do wha'?" 

"When we hang up the phone, go into your phone's settings and turn on the GPS." 

Oh, right. Cor told him that too. He doesn't want them to hang up, but if it means getting out of here... "'kay." 

"Five minutes, Your Highness," Cor says, and then his phone returns to the home screen as the call ends. 

Noct stares down at it. He's gotta go to settings, but everything looks so blurry, he can't tell what's what. Settings looks like a gear, but right now everything's just a jumbled up mess of colours that hurt his eyes. He tries to remember where it's located on the screen, but the phone's too new, and muscle memory hasn't kicked in for all the apps yet. 

Maybe if he takes a nap, his head will clear some again. Then he can find the settings and... and do whatever it was Cor wanted. He'll remember after he's had some sleep. 

* * *

Ignis eyes the phone as Cor goes to end the call, resisting the urge to lunge for it and snatch it away before he hits that button. It will only be five minutes—the marshal's already eyeing his watch—but Ignis isn't sure that Noct will pick back up a second time, or even manage to re-enable his GPS. He'd sounded quite bad on the phone, clearly going downhill fast, his words blending together with consonants and vowels dropping in places, and once Cor had taken over the conversation it was obvious that Noct wasn't following along with it very well. 

It's possible Noct's suffered a brain injury worse than a concussion. Just the thought of it makes his heart beat a little faster, his throat tightening until it's hard to swallow. He doesn't want to consider the possibility at all. Perhaps it's too optimistic of him, but he wishes to believe that Noct will come back from this just fine. They'll bring him home, and once he's had the proper medical attention, he'll make a full recovery, physically _and_ mentally. He can't bear to lose any more of Noct. 

Low murmuring catches his attention, and he breaks from his thoughts to glance over to the small sofa in the corner where Clarus had led His Majesty earlier. The king had been crying silently, and Ignis had helplessly watched Clarus attempt to soothe him. He's not crying any longer, but he looks tired, and he appears to have aged another twenty years in these past few hours. Clarus is still making attempts to reassure him, but it seems to have little effect. 

Gladio's words earlier had been correct, Ignis isn't the one at fault here—but it's rather hard to remind himself of that when he sees the despondent expression on the king's face, his eyes avoiding Clarus' face, hands absently picking at some loose thread on the sofa cushion. Under other, less serious circumstances, it might have been amusing to see him act that way, because it's exactly the way Noct behaves when he's worried. Ignis doesn't often get to see the king let his guard down and just act _human_ , like the parent he is rather than the regal and respectable ruler of an entire kingdom, but in this situation, to see how alike father and son are only makes guilt run through him again. 

"Five minutes," Cor announces to no one in particular, and Ignis turns his gaze back to the phone as he brings up Noct's number to call again. When Noct doesn't pick up within the first ring, Ignis tenses, shoulders and back stiffening, his hands clenching together tightly in his lap. Noct _should_ be picking up... 

No one says anything as the phone continues to ring. It feels to Ignis as if the room is collectively holding its breath. One of the Crownsguard begins to drum his fingers on the table, and it accompanies the end of each ring like a firm punctuation mark, emphasising the finality of Noct's lack of answering. 

After several rings the voicemail picks up, the automated message playing. "Shit," Gladio says, summing up Ignis' feelings perfectly. "Dammit, kid." 

Cor disconnects the call. "I'll try again in two minutes." 

Ignis certainly isn't going to protest that, but he suspects there won't be any answer two minutes from now, either. Noct has likely gone to sleep again, and there's no guessing when he might be able to wake back up and answer his phone. It's beyond Noct's control, he knows that, but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with. 

No one moves as those two minutes pass, and when they're up Cor attempts another call. And then a third five minutes later. After the fourth, Ignis glances to Regis. Clarus is still with him, though he's moved to sit beside him, and the king is grasping his hand tightly, eyes fixated on the phone, face pinched tight, mouth drawn in a thin line. Each unanswered ring has him squeezing at Clarus' hand. He looks as if he'll fall apart at any moment. 

Guilt crawling up his throat, Ignis gets up from his spot at the table and moves to sit beside Regis instead. No one else in this room would dare, other than the marshal perhaps, but Ignis knows the king sees him as a son as much as Noct in some ways. Regis reaches out, and Ignis lets him take his hand as well. It's cold, and shaking slightly, so Ignis curls his fingers around it, offering what little comfort he can. 

"He'll answer eventually, Your Majesty," Ignis murmurs to him. "He always does." 

"I fear for the call when he does not." 

"That's not going to happen, Regis. We're going to find him first," Clarus tells him. 

He doesn't respond to that, and they sit quietly, listening hopefully every time the marshal attempts a new call. Ignis is relieved to note that Regis' hands stop shaking, some warmth coming back into them. He must still be worried about Noct, but he seems to have found some small measure of comfort in his and Clarus' presences, and Ignis is glad. 

"It's curious he mentioned a hole," Regis says quietly during a break between phone calls. "Does it hold some significance?" 

"He's rather concussed. It likely means nothing. Perhaps a small crack in the ceiling he noticed, if indeed a hole even exists," Ignis says. "He also pointed out walls and windows, which would have been inferred if he'd stated he was inside from the start." 

"You believe so? I wonder..." 

Ignis frowns, not sure what Regis might be getting at. "Pardon? What is it you wonder?" 

"Ah, forgive me, Ignis. It's nothing. Just an old man musing aloud. I appreciate you keeping me company." 

"It's no trouble, Your Majesty." 

At the table, Cor calls again, so they fall silent. 

* * *

"Shut up," Noct mumbles to his phone, reluctantly opening his eyes to glare at it. It's ringing, but he doesn't want to answer it. He wants to sleep. 

Thankfully it stops soon, and he slides his eyes shut, but not even a moment later it's starting up again, the noise incessant. Noct moans. When it rings a third time, he gives up and answers it. He still can't read the buttons, but the call function stayed the same as his old phone, so he can at least do that by memory. "What?" he grumbles. 

"You were supposed to answer when I called after five minutes, Your Highness. It's been nearly forty-five instead," Cor tells him, his tone matching Noct's. 

Noct yawns. "Tired," he says. "Coul'n't see the screen." 

"Couldn't see?" That's Gladio's voice, full of alarm. 

"'s all blurry. Coul'n't fin' the buttons." 

"The concussion, I presume," Ignis says. Noct wishes they'd quit switching. It makes his mind feel all dizzy. 

"So no GPS then." 

"I'm afraid not, Your Majesty." 

"Dad," Noct says. "When did you get here?" 

"A while ago," his dad says vaguely. "Noctis, I need to ask you a question." 

Hearing his dad's voice grounds him some, bringing a little clarity back to his thoughts. His dad is comfort and reassurance and safety and home, all things Noct wants most right now. It's easier to focus when his dad offers the potential of all that. "What question?" 

"It's about the hole you mentioned to Ignis." 

"Oh," he says. "It's up. In the top." 

"Is the top the ceiling?" 

"Yeah." He hadn't been able to remember the word for some reason. "It's in the ceilin'." 

"Is it a big hole?" 

Noct tips his head back, sweeping his eyes around until he spots it. The sky is just barely beginning to show the earliest hints of light, and he can see it a little easier. "Kinda..." 

"Are there a lot of broken boards around you, or under you perhaps, and maybe bits of plaster?" 

How does his dad know that? "Yeah." 

"Are you covered in some kind of dust?" 

"Yeah," he says again. 

His dad starts to say something else, but Gladio interrupts him before he can. "Oh fuck," he says, his voice sick with realisation. "He fell through the floor." 

Noct blinks, and looks at the hole again. "I did?" he asks, but even as he speaks the words, he gets a brief flash in his mind: the sensation of falling, and twisting his body around frantically, unable to grab onto anything. "Maybe..." If that's what happened, no wonder his body is so messed up. Though it still doesn't explain to him how he got to here in the first place, and where _here_ is. 

"What kinda office would he be in that he could fall through the floor, though?" 

"An office not currently in use," Ignis says, and they're doing the switching thing again. 

"Abandoned. That narrows it down considerably," Cor says. "The area within the radius is well-developed, there aren't going to be too many abandoned office buildings." 

"We'll get a list. Narrow it down if we can, then search every one if we have to." 

That's his dad's voice again. It's commanding and authoritative. Noct likes listening to it. When his dad takes charge, he always knows everything is gonna be okay. They really are going to find him, and Noct's going to do his part to help them. He's going to get to that door still. "Dad. There's—" 

He'd intended to tell his dad about the door, but the words are lost as powerful coughs begin to wrack his body again, strong enough to trigger dry heaves, and Noct suspects he's only not actually throwing up because there's nothing left to throw up. He's helpless to do anything other than ride out the fit, everything aching, the exertion leaving him hot and sweaty and miserable. 

When it's over he's left exhausted and dizzy, the room spinning around him, but he knows better than to try closing his eyes again. He doesn't want to lose his balance and wind up with another nail through the hand, or something worse. 

"Noctis?" 

Noct groans. "'m thirsty," he complains. "My mouth is dry." His lips too. They've been chapped for a little while now, but the coughs and dry heaves have made him more aware of it, pulling at the cracked skin. He licks at them, but there isn't enough moisture in his mouth for his tongue to do anything. 

"You haven't had anything to drink for at least a day, I believe," Ignis says. "With all the vomiting you did earlier, you're likely dehydrated." 

Noct doesn't even care at this point. It's just one more thing to add to the ever growing list of things wrong with him. "Got Prompto's cold too," he mumbles. 

"Yes, I had feared you would catch that as well." 

"Dad," he says then. He wants to move on to more important things. Anything to get out of here faster. Everything hurts, and he's so tired. He needs this to be over. At least the room's spinning a little less now, but he still feels sluggish and feverish. 

"I'm still here, Noctis." 

"There's a door. Been tryin' to get to it. Might go outside. Could help figure out where 'm at." 

There's silence for a brief pause, and then his dad speaks up, his voice full of hesitation. "Noctis, son, I don't believe moving in your current condition is a good idea. It can exacerbate your injuries. As well, you risk hurting yourself even more, and I would rather you didn't." 

Well. Noct knows that firsthand. "Too late. Put my hand through a nail. Don' try it at home," Noct says, and is confused when he hears laughter in the background. 

"Behemoth's left nut, Noct!" 

"Gladiolus! Mind your mouth!" Clarus snaps out, before Noct even has a chance to respond. 

"Sorry." Gladio doesn't sound it though. "But you know I learned it from you." 

There's more distant laughter, even as Clarus says, "There is a time and a place, Gladiolus. This is not it." 

Noct really wishes they'd quit switching, and just let only one person speak. It's hard to process the voice changes, and he has to play it all back in his mind to figure it out before he can respond. Though right now they aren't talking to him, so he can ignore them and start trying to move again. 

It's harder now. He feels weaker than he did earlier, the illness and new injury taking their additional tolls on his body, and it takes more effort to scoot himself along. And it's still pure agony to his broken bones, knocking them together and aggravating all the tender, swollen flesh on his leg. His right arm hurts too, the movement jostling those bones around as well, though he does his best to keep it cradled firmly against his chest. Plus he has to set the now aching palm of his left hand down flat against the floor, pressing against the puncture wound there, getting all manner of dirt and germs into the hole. 

Still, he manages to drag himself a few inches closer to the door, grunting quietly against the pain, doing his best not to cry out and worry everybody. 

"Noctis? Are you moving?" 

It takes him a moment to register that his dad's speaking to him again, the previous conversation between everyone else having faded away. "Yeah," he says after a short delay, inching himself a little further. He wishes he had some water. 

His dad sighs. "You're both stubborn and determined, just as your mother was. I realise I can't stop you, but please be careful. No more nails through hands, and take rests when you need them." 

"Okay," he agrees as he scoots again. 

"If he intends to focus on getting to that door, we should probably end the call for now. We need to preserve whatever battery life he has left, in case we need to communicate when we're closer to finding him." 

Cor's not speaking to him, but Noct frowns anyway, not liking what he's hearing. "Don't leave me," he says. Sunrise is approaching, the sky lightening a little more as the sun starts its own slow inch above the horizon, but even in daylight the prospect of not having anyone to talk to sounds lonely and frightening. 

"I would prefer not to," his dad says. "However, Cor is correct. We may need your help later in locating you. You can't do that if your phone is dead." 

"I don' wanna be alone." 

Another pause, and then his dad clears his throat. "You won't be for too much longer. I swear it." His dad's voice catches on the last words, and Noct hopes he doesn't cry again. He doesn't want his dad to be sad or worried. 

That means he has to be strong, so that his dad won't have a reason to be sad or worried. And he's already been alone for hours. He can last a couple more if he has to. He knows they're right anyway. He doesn't know how much power his phone has left, or even how charged it was whenever he wound up in this building, so he needs to save it for important things. "Okay," he says finally. "You can hang up." 

They exchange goodbyes, and Noct tries to shake the idea that it's his last one. He's gonna go home. Everyone's said so. _He_ believes it, too, and he knows he can survive this, so he doesn't know why his dad hanging up feels so final. It's stupid. He's just going to ignore it. 

Once the call is ended, he goes back to his slow progress towards the door. He has to make it there. He's certain it's gonna go outside, and give him a clue about where he is. It sucks that everything hurts, but he's going to ignore that too, and just keep moving forward. If he survived _falling through a floor_ , he can drag himself over to a stupid door. 

At least, he hopes so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Noct. I always make you suffer so much. You deserve better.
> 
> Thank you as always for the kudos/comments/bookmarks, you guys are ever awesome for making my days great <3333 Drop me a comment and yell at me for torturing Noct still if you wish!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saturday chapter time \o/ Hope you enjoy it! (Is enjoy the right word? I can never figure it out with angst fics. ENJOY YOUR SUFFERING is what I'm basically saying, and that just sounds wrong.)

_We believe Noct fell through the floor of the building he's currently in._

_?????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!_ is the only response Ignis gets to his text, and he supposes he can't really blame Prompto for it. It sums up his own feelings on the matter quite well, though he'd of course make an effort to be more concise than that. 

He sends a few more texts, explaining how His Majesty had questioned Noct about the hole and the revelation it led to. Prompto replies back with worry and shock, but Ignis can only half focus on the conversation, his mind still trying to process the fact that Noct fell through a floor. He can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like, how terrifying and painful it must have felt. 

_Pls can u get me permission 2 come join u guys?!_

Ignis sighs. He knows how close Noct and Prompto have grown as friends these past few months, and he feels bad that Prompto's been left out, knowing how afraid for Noct he must be, but Cor would never allow it. _I cannot, Prompto. You will be able to visit him in the hospital once we find him._

Prompto doesn't respond to that, making Ignis feel even more terrible. He already has enough guilt, however, and he doesn't want to deal with even more right now, so he pushes it aside, and sends another text. _Has Noct ever hung around or explored any abandoned buildings that you know of, or perhaps with you?_

_No... y?_

Well, that had been too much to hope for, he supposes. Noct has never shown interest in any sort of urban exploration before, after all. Ignis sends off a quick explanation to Prompto for that as well, and promises once more to keep him updated. Conversation over, he lowers his phone to his lap, thoughts still on Noct's probable fall. 

His injuries certainly make sense with a fall, and if that is indeed what happened, there's bound to be even more that Noct hasn't mentioned, or is perhaps unaware of. He'd sat up and has been moving at least, so it seems unlikely there's major damage to his spinal column. Thank the Astrals for that blessing. 

But the broken bones, the concussion... those are worrying. Those will take weeks to recover from, maybe months for the bones, and that's presuming there aren't any complications to deal with. If Noct's been dragging himself around the dirty floor of an abandoned building, stirring up dust and the Gods knows what else, infection seems a lot more likely. And if the infection gets into the bones... 

Even without it, a fall means the possibility of _shattered_ bones, not only broken. Shattered means surgeries, and reconstructions of the bone, and pins or plates or rods all being stuck in his leg... Physical therapy would be a given, and it seems unfair that Noct would be put through learning to walk _yet again_. 

And then there's the concussion to worry about. Brain injuries have too many varying factors to guess at recovery times or possible long-term or permanent effects, but the memory loss is worrying. Noct seems to be retaining memories well enough now at least, but it remains to be seen how much of Friday and Saturday he'll recover, if he ever does recover any of it. 

Selfishly, part of Ignis hopes he doesn't. At least not their argument. It's a thought that incites terrible guilt, but Ignis wishes for Noct to never remember the cruel remarks he'd thrown in his face. He'll have enough to deal with in regards to his physical therapy, and even if he doesn't regain his memories, he'll likely still have some mental trauma to work through simply from being alone and injured without the certainty of rescue for several hours—they're around ten hours now, and that's bound to have some effect. He doesn't need the memory of Ignis' horrible words on top of everything else. 

"Waiting sucks," Gladio mutters, breaking into his thoughts. 

Ignis looks at him with no small amount of empathy. Neither of them have ever been good at simply sitting around and doing nothing, certainly not when there's something wrong. They prefer to be out and moving, doing whatever they can to help. That there is nothing for them to do at the moment is mental torture. He feels restless and anxious, and he's positive Gladio does too. "I imagine it's much worse for Noct." 

Gladio sighs. "Just hope the kid's gonna be okay." 

"Indeed," Ignis murmurs. He glances over to the bank of computers, where Cor and Clarus and the other Crownsguard are working tirelessly to get that list of known abandoned buildings within Noct's radius. It's the first concrete hope they've had of finding him, and Ignis dearly wants it to pan out. Noct's getting worse, and he can't shake the sense that they're running out of time. 

"We've got a list," Cor eventually announces as he stands and stretches briefly. It's been nearly an hour since they hung up on Noct. "There are twenty-three buildings total within his radius." 

Ignis and Gladio both get up and head over to the computers, the king right behind them. "Twenty-three's a lot," Gladio says, as Ignis starts scanning through the list. 

"Yes. But since his last known location was his apartment, we'll start from there and gradually work our way out if we have to. There are six buildings that are within only a few streets of his building; those are the ones we'll start with." 

"Six is still plenty," Regis says. "Is there any way to narrow it down, cross out some we can be sure he wouldn't be at?" 

Cor shakes his head. "Unless His Highness can give us more information about the building he's in, it's arbitrary at this point. You three know him best; you can look at the list and see if any stand out as likely or unlikely, but if His Highness was truly avoiding Ignis after their argument as he suspects, his choice of building was probably simply whatever was nearest to him at the time." 

"How many buildings can we search at once?" 

Cor clears his throat. "I assume we're cancelling this morning's planned events?" 

"Yes, I'll have someone set something else up for them, something that won't require as much security. Perhaps a tour around the Citadel district, or the palace itself." 

"Then access to available Crownsguard will be a little less limited, but I'd still estimate only three teams at most," Cor says with a sigh. Ignis is still going through the list, looking for any buildings that might stand out to him—nothing, as he'd suspected—but he keeps an ear tuned to the conversation. Whatever it takes, he intends to be part of one of those teams. 

"So three buildings at a time. That's half of the immediate ones," the king says. 

"It will still take quite some time to search three buildings top to bottom," Cor warns. "Especially if Prince Noctis has passed out or fallen asleep again, or is unable to answer his phone for any reason." 

"And what if Noct ain't in any of these six buildings?" Gladio chimes in. "What then? We don't have all day to search through twenty-three buildings without more info." 

"We'll worry about that if it becomes necessary. Right now we focus on these six." 

Ignis turns away from the list. They're all meaningless company names and addresses to him—and likely to Noct too, as the marshal had said. "We can check in with Noct now, and see if he's made his way to that door," he says. "Perhaps we'll only need to search one building." 

Cor nods. "I'll start pulling together teams, but that's a possibility. Call him. He may not be on a ground floor at all, but it's the best chance we've got for now." 

Ignis nods back, and pulls out his phone. 

* * *

Breath, brace, scoot. Breath, brace, scoot. Once again, Noct feels like he's been at it for days, moving slowly across the floor in a trance, all his focus fixed on the door in front of him, even when he has to stop and rest. It's worth it though—the door's almost within reach, and once he's there he'll finally be able to stop and rest until his dad and Ignis come get him. 

He's so focused on the door that he almost doesn't notice the desk in his path until he's right in front of it. He does his best to angle his body for a slight turn, to work his way around it, but dizziness and nausea have his head swimming still, his vision still blurring a little, and he misjudges the amount of room he'll need—or maybe it just hurts too much to manage the turn. Either way, he manages to bang his busted up leg into the edge of the desk, cutting it on a sharp metal corner of a drawer that's hanging open slightly. 

"Ow," he mumbles after a moment. It's delayed; it seems to take his mouth some time to catch up with his brain. The pain itself is instantaneous however, but compared to everything else, it's a mild sting that he can easily dismiss. He doesn't even realise it's bleeding until he looks down at it, and when he spots the blood he goes to grab at his leg on instinct, stopping his hand just short of touching it. _That_ pain won't be something he can ignore. 

He lets his hand hover, uncertain what to do about the blood. There's also heat radiating from his leg, and that's disconcerting to feel. That means something, but his mind's too sluggish to remember what. He decides to just let his leg bleed. The cut doesn't look serious. He keeps moving, scooting himself around the desk, to the end of it, and then stops for a rest, leaning against the edge of it. 

Sunrise has come, and there's enough daylight to inspect himself better. What he sees is a little scary. In the light, the sight of his bone sticking out of his leg looks even more stark and gruesome, and he feels sick, gagging a little. Both legs are still badly bruised, skin torn and scratched up everywhere, the left one still oddly tented in places, everything swollen. 

His arms are all torn and scratched up too, bruises scattered all along them as well, the colouring such a dark purple that it almost looks black, and his broken wrist is also swollen and puffy looking. He doesn't bother to lift his shirt, but he's sure his chest and sides aren't in any better shape—his shirt's ripped in several places, so there's bound to be cuts and scrapes there too. 

Noct sighs, and decides to stop looking. It's only making his nausea worse. He looks at the door instead. It's so close, and yet it feels so far still. Everything hurts, and he's tired and thirsty and weak. He just wants to close his eyes and catch a quick nap, but there's no time for that. 

Reluctantly, he moves away from the desk, takes a breath, braces his hand against the floor, and scoots. 

It takes forever, and several more breaks, but at last he's finally in front of the door. It's closed, but it's not a tall door. It makes him gasp and grit his teeth at the pain in his shoulder that flares, but he's able to lift his left arm up and grab the doorknob easily. It takes a moment of confused fumbling, but he's able to turn it and push the door open, scooting himself into the doorway, letting his left arm keep it held open. 

He can already tell by the lack of bright sunlight hitting his face that the door doesn't go outside, but he still hopes for another room with a second door that _does_ go outside—until he gets situated enough to glance around, and sees nothing but stairs. They go in both directions, telling him there's floors both above and below him, and with his injuries there's no way he's getting to any of them. 

"Dammit!" he yells, or tries to. It catches in his throat, his mouth so dry that yelling hurts. He looks at the stairs despondently, wanting to cry, but he's so worn out that he just doesn't have the energy to even try. He slumps over, trying to take some deep breaths, but it hurts his chest too much. "Everything hurts," he mutters, and then laughs. He regrets it when it sets off another coughing fit. 

When it's over, he squeezes his eyes shut, panting at the pain. Everything's been for nothing. He's poured literal blood, sweat, and tears into getting himself across this room and to this door, and it goes nowhere. He wanted so badly to be able to help his dad and Ignis, give them something useful to find him, so he can finally get out of here and go home, but now there's _nothing_. He has no idea where he is, and the others won't either, and he's going to be stuck in here all alone until one of his injuries or illnesses finally kills him. They'll never find his body, never be able to give him a proper burial, his dad will lose his heir and he'll never get to be king... 

He wants to talk to them. He just wants to hear his dad's voice telling him that everything's going to be fine, that they're going to find him no matter what and bring him home, and he's _not_ going to die alone in some godsforsaken building who knows where. Whether it's true or not, he needs that reassurance. 

He opens his eyes, grabbing for his phone. He knows the location of his contacts button by memory, but once he's got that pulled up, he finds his vision's too blurry to read the small names in the list, and when he tries to think about the order of his contacts and how far down Ignis would be, he finds he can't concentrate enough to remember who the list even starts with. 

It's probably better he can't, anyway. If he calls he'll just have to admit he's got nothing for them. He's failed, the same way he's failed at everything else in his life lately. Reading that report, keeping up with training, attending to his duties in a timely manner, not skipping out on things to go to the arcade with Prompto... even just taking care of his apartment, he's failed at all of it and he's so ashamed of himself. He doesn't want to subject himself to another round of disappointment for this latest failure. 

And his dad will be upset too, not just disappointed, and Ignis, and everyone else... he hates hearing his dad cry, especially when it's his fault. And though he doesn't know how he got here in this building, he's sure it was entirely of his own doing. Probably trying to avoid his problems somehow—it's all he's done lately. 

Noct sighs. He doesn't want to think about this. Not only because he hates the feelings it invokes in him, but because it's hard maintaining his focus—his thoughts keep wanting to slip off to something else, or just fizzle out into nothing. His head's aching fiercely, still dizzy and feverish, and he wants to stop thinking altogether and just go to sleep. 

And really, he might as well. He was fighting to stay awake to get to the door, but now he has and it's useless. He can't help. There's nothing left for him. Though if he wants to lie down, he'll have to drag himself back inside the room first—the stairwell's small and cramped; there's not enough room for him to stretch out. 

Groaning, he starts the slow painful process of shifting himself around and back through the door. It hurts so bad, everything's on fire, all his nerves are screaming, but at last he's through, door shut behind him once more, and he can lie down and go to sleep. He finds he's reluctant to, though. What if he never wakes up again? He's really, really tired. And sick. He's sick and tired. 

And dizzy. And hot, too, even though he's shivering again. His head's spinning, it's so hard to think, everything hurts, he wants to go home, he wants his dad. Why hasn't his dad found him yet? Why can't he go home? He doesn't want to do any of this anymore. He wants to cry, but his eyes feel as dry as his mouth. He wants some water. 

Lie down. He's gotta lie down. And sleep. Sleep will take him away from all of this. He'll wake up again. When his dad finds him, he'll wake up. So he's going to lie down. Only before he goes to do just that, his phone rings. Noct blinks, prying his eyes open with some effort. He doesn't even remember closing them. 

He can't read the screen, but it doesn't matter. It's Ignis, because it always is, and he badly wants to hear both Ignis' and his dad's voices, so he answers it. 

"'lo?" 

* * *

"Noct," Ignis says with relief as he sinks back down into the sofa, thankful that he's answered right away. He doesn't want to go through another tense forty-five minute wait of hoping and praying to the Astrals that Noct will finally pick up his phone. "How are you feeling?" 

"Dunno," Noct says, and in retrospect it wasn't a smart question. How should he expect Noct to be feeling, after all, but exhausted and hurting? He can hear the fatigue and pain in Noct's voice for himself. 

He decides to just move on. There's a purpose to this call and little time to waste. "How is your progress with the door?" 

"Door?" There's genuine confusion in Noct's voice, and it sends a chill of fear shivering down Ignis' spine. 

They really are running out of time. They need to find Noct _fast_. Ignis prays Noct made it to the door, and will stay lucid long enough to give them some useful information—assuming he has any. He doesn't want to consider otherwise. "The last time we spoke, you informed us you were attempting to reach a door," he says, doing his best to stay patient and calm. Agitating Noct won't help anyone. 

"'s dayligh' now," Noct says, his voice slurring as badly as it had the last time they'd spoken. "'s not as scary." 

Ignis frowns, looking up at approaching footsteps. It's Noct's father, face crinkled with worry. He glances at Ignis before taking a seat, his eyes reflecting the same fear Ignis is feeling. Ignis swallows hard, and then looks back down at the phone. "Noct, did you reach the door?" he asks, deciding to keep trying to get Noct to answer the question. 

"What door?" 

Gods, this is a disaster. One that's all his fault. Even if Gladio is correct about this being an accident, Ignis made it worse by making terrible decisions in the beginning. He should have called in the Crownsguard straight away. Perhaps having those couple extra hours to look for Noct would have made all the difference. "The door in the room," Ignis says helplessly. He's never seen the door. How else is he meant to answer? 

Noct laughs. "Cut my leg on a desk." 

Being patient and calm is getting him nowhere. Noct's answers are barely even relating to Ignis' queries. It's clear that he's given up—he sounds listless, he's making little effort to follow the conversation... he doesn't expect to be found, and Ignis doesn't like that. He interjects a little more force into his voice, speaking louder and more firmly. "Noct. _Noctis_." He hopes the full use of Noct's first name will catch his attention better. "I need you to focus on my words. I need you to answer my questions. It's _very_ important. Are you able do that for me?" 

There's a long pause, and Ignis waits anxiously for a response, hoping Noct hasn't fallen asleep or passed out. "Yeah," Noct finally says, and thank the Astrals, he sounds just a little clearer. 

"Good," Ignis praises. "Now. Did you reach the door in the room?" 

The next response is just as delayed as the first, but at least Noct answers it. "Yeah." 

"Does it go outside?" 

Another pause, and Ignis can only assume Noct needs the time to process what he's being asked. It's worrying, but there's little to be done about it. "Stairs. 's stairs. Up 'n down. 'n down 'n up." Noct laughs again, but stops abruptly. "'m so tired, Specs." 

Ignis feels his throat tighten, even as his stomach sinks at the news. Stairs. Stairs in both directions, meaning Noct's on a middle floor somewhere. They're going to have to go it alone and search all the buildings. "I know, Noct. Just a little longer. We're sending out teams to search the most likely buildings as we speak. We're going to find you." 

* * *

Ignis' voice is nice to listen to, even if he sounds upset. And he wants Noct to think, which Noct doesn't want to do. But it's Ignis, so he does, and Ignis doesn't seem disappointed that he failed with the stairs, which is good. But Ignis has had his turn now, and he wants to hear his dad. "Wanna talk to dad," he tells him. 

"I'm here, son," his dad says quietly, and Noct frowns once he's processed it. They really need to stop doing that fast switching thing. 

"Dad," he says. "Gonna fin' me?" 

"Absolutely. Like Ignis said, we're sending out teams now. We're checking three buildings at a time. We'll find you, Noctis. You're coming home." 

The conviction in his voice comforts Noct. He believes his dad. He's going home. "Okay," he says, and pauses. "Tell me about mom. What was she like?" He doesn't usually ask, because he can tell how painful it is for his dad to talk about her. But he knows so little, and if he _isn't_ found, he just wants to have something of her to think about. 

"She was a wonderful woman," his dad says. "You are so very much like her in many ways, Noctis." 

"How?" 

His dad sighs, a sad, yearning sound that almost makes Noct want to take his question back. "Perhaps it's a cliche, but she would light up a room with her smile whenever she walked in. It never failed to cheer me up. She was—" his dad stops then, voice thick, and clears his throat. "She was also loyal. She cared about her friends and family deeply, and hated to see them hurt. If someone wronged them, she felt wronged as well. And she had a secret soft spot for animals, loved to take care of them and would bleed her heart dry for them if they were hurt. She was one of the kindest people I ever knew. All qualities that I see in you." 

It's the most he's ever heard about his mom. He never knew he was that much like her. "What else?" he asks, desperate to hear more. It's hard to focus on the conversation, but this one is worth it. 

"She could be headstrong at times, and if she felt she was right about something during an argument, she never wanted to give an inch. And no matter how bad things might have gotten at times in her life, she didn't give up easy. She would keep moving forward, always. She was—" his dad stops again, and though Noct still wants more, he thinks his dad might be crying again. Or really close to it. And he doesn't want his dad to keep hurting. 

So he gives him an out. "I wish I could have known her," he says, tone wistful. "Did she love me?" 

"Ah, Noctis. My son. Believe me when I tell you, she was glowing with happiness the day you were born. She loved you very much. Never doubt that." 

"How'd you meet?" He can't help it—he wants to be selfish just a little longer. Hearing his dad talk about her is a great distraction, and he's starting to not notice his pain as much. 

"We were childhood friends. We grew up together much in the same way that you and Ignis did, only she wasn't my advisor." 

"Oh." He hadn't known that. No wonder his dad rarely mentions her—if he ever loses Ignis, he's not sure he'd be able to think about him without breaking down. Ignis is everything to him. Ignis is in every part of his life, every day of it, and to lose that and never have it again... It's hypothetical but it still makes his chest tighten with grief. He doesn't want to ever think about it happening. "I'm tired," he says. He can't make his dad think about his mom any longer. Not when it's like him and Ignis. 

"I know. You'll be home soon, though, and then you can sleep as much as you want." 

He closes his eyes, already imagining being in his bed, burrowed cozily under the covers. It sounds nice. Ignis will bring him food and drink, and he won't get up except to use the bathroom. "How come I don' hafta pee? Or use the bathroom at all?" he asks then, the thought suddenly occurring to him. He hasn't been hungry either, although that's probably from the nausea. 

"That's the dehydration, son," his dad says, a faint hint of amusement in his voice, even as he still sounds worried. 

"Oh," Noct says again. "Least I could use the papers as toilet paper. Plenty o' them." He's starting to babble again as fatigue creeps through his thoughts, and he's aware of it, but he's unable to stop it. Oh well. 

"What papers?" 

Noct frowns. His dad's voice has changed. It's sharper, more alert, but also confused. It makes him confused. He thought he mentioned it to Ignis earlier. Maybe that was only in his head. Or maybe he forgot. "The ones all over the floor." 

* * *

Ignis feels his blood run cold at Noct's words. _Papers_. He remembers now, when he'd been asking about Noct's surroundings—Noct had mentioned papers. A lot of them, he'd said. At the time, Ignis had dismissed it as being useless, part of Noct's confusion and focusing on unimportant things, much like the hole, and then he'd forgotten about it. But now, knowing Noct's in an abandoned office building somewhere— 

He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but they could be old company papers. Company papers that might have the name of the company on them. Removed from the desks and scattered about the floor by vagrants, and likely the weather as well. But hopefully not _ruined_ by the weather, or the passage of time. If Noct could get some and go through them, be able to read them... 

He listens as Regis begins trying to convince Noct to do just that. He reminds himself that Noct's vision is suffering due to the concussion, and he hadn't been able to manage his phone earlier. He might not be able to read through any papers either, so Ignis most certainly should _not_ count on this. 

But with the door being a bust and Noct unable to give them any other information about his location, this is now the best chance they've got. 

"Don' wanna move," Noct whines to his dad. "'m sleepy." 

"Once you get the papers, you can sleep. I promise," Regis says, and Ignis has to resist the urge to refute that. With the way Noct sounds, the thought of letting him sleep sounds terrifying. He doesn't want to contemplate even the faint possibility of Noct not ever waking back up. 

Noct sighs, loudly. "Kay," he says. Moments later, they can hear his pained grunts through the speaker as he begins moving. It's ten minutes of anxious waiting, his thoughts oscillating wildly between believing this is the break they've been waiting for, or surety that this is going to be another dead end and they're going to have to waste hours searching multiple buildings before they find Noct. 

Finally, they hear the rustling of papers. Noct grunts. "'s blurry," he says. "All small." 

"Keep looking," Regis urges. 

Noct does, shuffling through more papers. "Head hurts," he mumbles. A few moments later the rustling noise stops. "This is big. At the top." 

That sounds very promising. "Company name," he murmurs, and the king nods. 

"Can you read it?" Regis asks his son. 

Noct lets out another sigh. "Hard to," he says. He falls quiet, and Ignis hopes he's making an effort to read it. "Bevelle co.," he says proudly a few minutes later. 

Ignis feels himself visibly sagging as he hears Noct read out the name. It's a familiar company, of course, their billboards are all over the city. He looks up to alert the marshal as Regis begins praising Noct, but Cor's already on it, apparently having been listening as well. "Got it," he says only seconds later. "It's a building three blocks from his apartment. It's a branch of the company that moved to a larger building four years ago." 

He nods, but he doesn't care about the details. All that matters is the relief he feels. They've found him. They don't have to spend hours searching—they can go get him, and bring him home. They're going to get him the medical attention he needs, fix him up, and Noct's going to be just fine. He doesn't have to worry about not making it in time, or _never_ finding him, or having to listen through the phone as Noct continues to get worse and worse. That's over. 

Tears start rimming his eyes as all the worry and tension he's been feeling these past several hours leaves him, but Ignis does his best to blink them back, knowing he still doesn't have time to fall apart yet. A jumble of grateful and shameful emotions surge through him instead. He's happy that they at last have a location for Noct, but once again, it's his fault it took so long. Had he only remembered that detail about the papers earlier, had he not dismissed it out of hand and failed to mention it, they could have found Noct much sooner and spared him much of his pain. 

"I'm going with you," Gladio says, drawing Ignis from his self-berating. 

"I am as well," Ignis says firmly. There's no way he's willing to sit around this room and get left in the dark while others go and rescue Noct. Absolutely not. He's going to be right there alongside them, seeing how Noct is for himself. 

"No," Cor says, glancing at both of them with a hard look. "You don't need to be a part of this. You both can meet everyone at the hospital." 

Ignis bristles, unwilling to accept the order. "I'm going," he insists, sitting up straight as he clenches his hands into tight fists. "I won't be kept out of this." 

"Same with me," Gladio says, folding his arms across his chest with a glare. 

Cor glances between them again, then sighs, turning away. "One of you may accompany us. Decide between yourselves. I need to finish readying the team and arrange for an ambulance." 

Gladio moves away from the table, coming over to stand next to the sofa, crossing his arms once more as he looks down at Ignis. "I'm Noct's Shield," he says simply. 

"Little late for shielding, is it not?" Ignis snarks, and then feels his face heat up in embarrassment. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "My apologies, that was uncalled for. However, I am the reason Noct is in his current situation. I don't wish to fail him even further by not being there for him now." 

Gladio's face falls. "Iggy... I told you, it ain't your fault." 

"You're too kind, but I know otherwise, Gladio." 

They both go quiet briefly, listening to Regis. He's still on the phone with Noct, telling him they know his location at last. "We're coming to get you, Noctis. We're coming to bring you home." 

"Specs coming?" Noct mumbles around a yawn. "Want Ignis here." 

The words make Ignis' chest tighten. He knows Noct doesn't recall their argument at the moment, but there's been tension between them for over a month now, and it's unlikely Noct doesn't recall _any_ of it. That he still wants Ignis there with him despite that... 

Gladio sighs. "You go," he says, letting his arms drop down to his sides. "Can't argue with what the kid himself wants." 

Ignis nods. "Thank you," he says softly, and gets up to inform the marshal of their decision. 

A short while later, he's climbing into a car with Clarus and the king, ready to go bring Noct home. He buckles in and retrieves his phone from his pocket as the car begins to pull away from the curb, then brings up his message exchange with Prompto. _We've found Noct. We're headed out to get him now_ , he types, and hits send. It's short, but it's the most important thing for now. Longer explanations can wait until Noct's out of that damned building. 

Moments later, his phone vibrates with a response. He looks down and reads it, swallowing at the simple words. 

_Bring him home safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, the wait is over! They've figured out where he is! So no one have any heart attacks or faint or anything else, because they're going to rescue him and I can't be responsible for anyone dying >:[
> 
> You guys give me so much love, you're super awesome and I appreciate it!! Feel free to cry all over me in relief that Noct's located now <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the chapter you've all been waiting for \o/ At least one of them.

Regis and Clarus barely let the car come to a complete stop before they're tearing out of it, and Ignis is right behind them. The king is moving surprisingly fast given his need for the cane, but it still feels impossibly slow to him. He doesn't dare go around him, however. It would be highly rude, and he also suspects Regis would never forgive him if he did.

The three of them follow along behind Cor and his men, entering the building through a doorway in the side that no longer has its door—likely the same way Noct came in. He looks around the gloomy area as the Crownsguard fan out and begin searching, calling out Noct's name as they move; even though Noct had indicated an upper level, they have protocols to follow. The place is entirely trashed, and rather dilapidated. There's cracks and rust stains everywhere, peeling and chipped paint along the walls, creaking boards in the floor... he suspects the building was falling apart long before the company moved out. 

Seeing everything, Ignis can't help but wonder what on Eos possessed Noct to come in here and explore—especially to a high enough level to fall through a floor. There's nothing appealing in a bunch of busted up office equipment, or scattered trash and debris. One floor, perhaps, but to climb the stairs and keep looking... he fails to see what in here would draw Noct's attention that much. Was he really so desperate to avoid Ignis that he'd pick an abandoned building over coming home? 

"Floor's clear," someone calls out, and they all move to the stairs, taking them single file, the men still calling Noct's name, pausing after each instance to listen for a response. The second floor is much the same as the first, and Noct isn't on it either. When they get to the third, however, Ignis doesn't need to hear the cry of "Found him!" to know he's there—he's not far from the doorway, and easily visible. 

He rushes over with Regis, paying little attention to the orders that both Clarus and Cor start barking out to the team, dropping to his knees beside Noct. They've all waited long enough to see him. "Noct," he breathes out, stomach churning sickly as he gets his first glimpse of Noct's injuries. 

Noct's eyes flutter open, glancing blearily between him and Regis. "Specs?" he mumbles. "Dad?" 

"We're here, son," Regis says quietly. He reaches his hand out, hovering uncertainly, and then draws it back. Ignis can understand why. Looking at Noct, there seems to be no safe place to touch him that wouldn't cause him pain. His face looks relatively injury-free, only a few small cuts on his cheeks and forehead, but what Ignis can see of the rest of his body looks to be a mess of bruises and scrapes. The broken wrist Noct mentioned is immediately obvious, and the sight of bone sticking out of his left leg makes Ignis want to throw up. He has to swallow very hard in order not to. 

"'m thirsty." 

Regis immediately pulls a bottle of water from his Armiger—they'd made sure to grab several before they left—and hands it to Ignis. "If you would," he says. "I need to take a look at that leg." 

Ignis nods, taking it, and hesitates as he uncaps it. Noct has his eyes closed again. "Noct, I have water for you," he says. 

It takes a long minute for Noct to open his eyes this time, and when he does he can't seem to focus them properly on Ignis. It makes him uneasy. They should have found Noct sooner. He never should have waited so long to alert the Crownsguard. "Water?" Noct asks, licking at his lips and then wincing. 

Gods, it hurts to look at him. "Water," Ignis confirms as Noct reaches out his good arm. It feels like a misnomer to call it 'good,' though. There's dark purple bruising all along it, disappearing under the ripped sleeve of his vomit-covered t-shirt, and there's a few long cuts on the sides that are crusted around the edges with dried blood. Smaller scratches accompany them liberally, and when Noct unfurls his hand Ignis can see the puncture wound from the nail he mentioned near the centre of his palm, also crusted with blood. 

He passes the water to him, not letting go until he's sure Noct won't drop it. "Drink slowly," he cautions. "Too fast and you'll make yourself sick." 

There's a delay before Noct seems to understand the words, but after too many seconds he says, "Yeah," and then brings the water to his mouth. Ignis watches as he takes a few careful sips, his heart hurting. Noct looks so dazed and out of it, and his face keeps scrunching up with pain. Ignis doesn't want to imagine how much he must be in at the moment. 

Noct takes the next few sips quicker than he should, so Ignis reaches out and gently pulls the bottle away from him. The confused look of betrayal he gets in return makes his chest ache. "You need to let it settle," he explains. "You may have some more in a few minutes." 

He isn't sure Noct really follows, but he doesn't protest, eyes shuttering closed again as he yawns, head tipping down towards his chest, face smoothing out some as he drifts into a light sleep. He looks... incredibly young, suddenly, and it makes Ignis realise that he _is_ young. Only fifteen, and he has so much weight on his shoulders, more than any fifteen year old should have. Much of it is beyond either of their control, but Ignis' job is meant to lessen that burden as much as possible. Instead, he feels perhaps he's been adding to it, if unintentionally. But this never should have happened, and wouldn't have if only Ignis had caught on that there was more behind Noct's belligerent teenager act. 

He reaches out, gently placing a hand against Noct's forehead. He feels alarmingly warm, the fever radiating too much heat, but his skin isn't clammy, and Ignis has to clench his teeth together hard at more evidence of how dehydrated Noct is. The thought runs through his mind again that they should have found him sooner, relentless in its self-blame, and he has to take a subtle deep breath, letting it out slowly as he tries to keep himself together. He pulls his hand away, shifting his body as close to Noct as he dares without touching him, needing some sort of closeness. The sour smell of old vomit drifts up to him, and Ignis wrinkles his nose, but doesn't move back. 

Clarus comes over, dropping down next to them. "Just got word on the ambulance. It had to re-route due to a bad traffic accident causing major blockage. It should be here within the next ten minutes. How's His Highness?" 

"Infection's set in to his broken leg," Regis says, his voice grim. "And with that bone sticking out, I don't dare risk trying to heal anything with magic. Noctis will have to recover the traditional way. Again." 

The grief in that last word evokes the memories of Noct in a coma, and later in a wheelchair, and the uncertain and hushed tones everyone used as they whispered about his recovery when they thought Ignis couldn't hear. He swallows, and pushes those images to the back of his mind, locking them away as he turns his attention to Noct's leg. 

Even without the visible bone, it's a sight, skin mottled with bruises and tented oddly in a way that Ignis hadn't known was possible. There's even more cuts and scratches than on his arm, the skin positively shredded in places. Most telling, however, are the red lines spreading out from the open wound of the break, running up his leg under the ruins of his jeans, pointing towards his heart. 

He'd worried about the possibility of infection, but actually _seeing_ it is something else altogether. He hadn't truly expected there to be an infection already, but he supposes the cold and Noct's generally weaker immune system sped up the chances for it to set in. Ten minutes for an ambulance suddenly feels like an eternity. 

"'m thirsty," Noct complains, awake again, and Ignis tears his eyes from the sight of those lines, uncapping the bottle of water and handing it back over. He drinks faster this time, gulping greedily, and Ignis is just moving to take the bottle back when water apparently goes down the wrong way, setting off a coughing fit as Noct chokes on it. 

Listening to it through the phone had been bad enough, but hearing the dry, harsh-sounding coughs exploding from him in person makes Ignis' throat ache in sympathy. Noct drops the bottle as he leans over, water spilling over his legs, his good hand clenching into a fist as he rides the coughs out. Even when they taper off he still sounds terrible, his breathing shallow and gasping as he struggles to take in enough air. 

Finally he lets out a small moan of pain, face screwed up tight, eyes squeezed shut. "Everything hurts," he says, the pain and fatigue evident in his voice. 

"Ambulance is almost here," Regis says quietly, and Ignis can empathise with the helpless look on his face. He blinks away the sudden sting of hot tears in his eyes, blaming it on the dusty air, and watches as the king gently rests his hand atop Noct's good one, carefully curling his fingers over Noct's fist. The sight makes a lump form in his throat, and he has to take a couple more subtle breaths to keep a proper hold on his emotions. 

He picks up the spilled water bottle from Noct's lap, rescuing his phone at the same time. Curious, he checks the battery—seventeen percent. It wouldn't have lasted much longer. They truly did find him just in time. He pockets the phone absently, eyes sweeping around the area Noct has spent the last twelve or thirteen hours in. His eyes catch on the hole in the ceiling, stomach clenching uncomfortably as he takes it in, his mind filling up with images of Noct dropping through it. The ceiling looks to be about average height, which is bad enough, but given the severity of his injuries, he wonders if Noct fell through more than one floor. 

If Noct ever remembers the fall, will he forgive Ignis for it? For causing him to be in this situation? He won't fault him if Noct won't— _can't_. His stomach cramps at the thought, and he can't hold back the slight tremor that ripples through his body. 

"Ignis," Regis says then, drawing his attention as he reaches out the hand not resting atop Noct's, and after a hesitant moment Ignis takes it. "Noctis will be fine," he says, and there's true conviction in his voice that's been missing from the rest of them. Ignis nods, not trusting himself to speak. He doesn't understand how the king's not blaming him, and it makes him feel lost. At the very least, Regis should be angry with him for allowing this to happen. 

"The ambulance has arrived," Cor announces as he steps through the doorway, distracting Ignis from his reluctant contemplations. "They're on their way up." 

"You hear that? You're getting out of here," Regis tells his son, and though it takes him a few moments to process, the tired smile that lights up his face once he does is relieving to see. Ignis doesn't ever want to lose that smile. 

The paramedics come up a few minutes later, and once they get there Ignis finds there's little for him to do. He has to climb to his feet and move aside, the king and Clarus with him, and they all stand around looking adrift as the group begins their initial assessment of Noct. Ignis doesn't know what they're doing, he doesn't want to look, but he can hear the whines of pain coming from Noct, and he has to resist the irrational urge to go back over and shove them away from him. They're helping him, and that's what he needs. 

After several minutes, the lone woman of the group peels away and heads over to them. "I need to ask you some questions, Your Majesty," she says, and the king nods and steps away with her. 

That leaves Ignis with Clarus to stand there and listen to Noct's increasingly louder cries of pain as the paramedics begin splinting his broken leg. He wants to go over there, wants to offer what little measure of comfort he can, but he worries he'd only be in the way, and he's rather delayed Noct's treatment enough already. 

"It's probable he fell through three floors," Clarus says abruptly. It's a poor attempt at distraction, but Ignis will take what he can get. 

"Three?" he asks, stomach twisting sickly as he mentally calculates the height for three floors. The numbers are only an estimate, but they're too big for Ignis' liking. 

Clarus nods. "My men scouted. We're on the third floor currently. They went up to the sixth—the top—and found a hole on every floor, going straight through to here. The boards on the sixth floor are very weak and rotted through. It wouldn't take much more than a hard fall or a heavy object to break through them. Or perhaps the hole was already there; we found several smaller holes on each floor where the boards had already rotted away." 

"A hole in the top," Ignis murmured. Noct's words had more meaning than one, even if he himself hadn't realised it. 

"He's lucky there isn't more damage, with a fall like that." 

Lucky isn't the word Ignis would use, but he takes Clarus' point. Noct could have broken his back, or his neck, perhaps every bone in his body... He could have busted his head wide open and bled out before they ever had a chance to find him. He could have died instantly and never been found. In that sense, he _is_ lucky, and Ignis is very glad those things didn't happen. "He won't have an easy time of it, still," he eventually says. 

"He won't," Clarus agrees. "But he's strong, and he's survived worse. He'll pull through." 

Ignis knows he will. It's wondering whether he'll be the same afterwards that has him worried. He doesn't voice the thought, however. Instead he looks back to Noct, hating not knowing what's going on more than he hates watching Noct in pain. The men seem to be checking every inch of him for injuries, while the woman's stopped talking to the king, now near Noct's head, shining a penlight at his eyes, asking him questions he's slow to answer. 

"What's your name?" 

"Noct." 

"Full name, please." 

Noct sighs, clearly considering it an effort. "Noctis Lucis Caelum." 

"Can you tell me the date?" 

"No," Noct says, and even though Ignis knows he's got some memory loss, hearing Noct admit it sets his stomach fluttering with anxiety about it all over again. 

"How about the day of the week?" 

"Thur—?" He stops and frowns, seeming to realise that's not right. "Friday mornin'?" 

She goes through a couple more about the month and year, and Ignis is relieved Noct gets at least those right, though he hadn't expected differently. "Who is the current king?" she asks then. 

Noct scoffs, his tone implying what a stupid question he finds it to be. "Dad," he says, the unspoken _duh_ heard by everyone. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ignis finds himself holding back a smile, and he sees the paramedics struggling to do the same. The king himself actually lets out a brief laugh. 

"His full name, please." 

Noct actually rolls his eyes, to Ignis' incredulity. "Regis Lucis Caelum. The hundred an' thirteenth." 

"Good to see he's still living to make everyone else's lives more difficult," Clarus says quietly, a hint of a smile ghosting across his face. Ignis merely shakes his head. 

The paramedics work fast and efficiently, and soon enough they've got him on a board, broken bones splinted and neck braced as a precaution, questions done and assessment finished, lifting him to transport him down the stairs. Ignis follows behind, along with Regis and Clarus, and tries to block out the sound of Noct's distressed whines as he's moved. He's not sure if being moved is causing him more pain, or if he simply doesn't like the sensation of movement with his concussion. 

He doesn't give a single backward glance to the building as they exit it. He's quite fine if he never sees it again. He looks only forward, watching as Noct's loaded into the ambulance. He expects Regis to climb in after the paramedics, but instead the king pulls him aside. "I want you to accompany him," he says, voice low. 

Ignis stares at him. "Me?" he asks, and then hastily adds, "Your Majesty," his manners having flown out of his head in surprise. 

"I don't wish to have anyone intimidated by my presence, or worried about keeping me updated rather than focusing on my son. And I will take up far too much room in the back, I fear, especially with this knee of mine. I would also need additional security, and there isn't room for Clarus as well." 

"I—I don't—" Ignis is at a loss for what to say. He wants desperately to ride with Noct, but he doesn't want to take the king's place. Noct should have his father with him. 

Regis sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know I have placed a huge weight on your shoulders over the years. Yours and Noctis' both. Children should not have to deal with so much responsibility. And tonight, you have had to deal with more than you deserve. The decisions you were forced to make were enormous." 

He doesn't understand what was enormous about them. He merely wanted to find Noct, and didn't think things through logically enough. He's not clear why Regis is going on about a weight on his shoulders. Noct's, certainly, but Ignis is simply doing his job. Noct is never a burden to him. "It's not—" he tries, but Regis shakes his head. 

"Unfortunately, circumstances make it unavoidable. That is the nature of royalty. Still, I apologise that you have to bear these burdens. It is perhaps unfair of me, but I ask that you bear them once more tonight and ride with my son in my place. I... cannot bring myself to see him hurting so." Regis pauses, and Ignis can see him visibly swallow. "As well, you are the more logical choice, Ignis. They'll allow you in the back under the basis of security. Besides, he's calling for you." 

Ignis blinks, focusing his attention back to the ambulance as he realises the king is right. It's slurred and weak, but Noct is repeating Ignis' name loudly enough for him to hear as the paramedics work to get IVs going in his arms, his tone forlorn and scared. It upsets him to hear Noct sound so lost and frightened, tears coming to his eyes as blame rises up once more, ugly and deep within. He shoves it all back, nodding at Regis before approaching the ambulance. 

"He's riding in the back with my son," Regis says to the paramedics, nodding towards him. "Noctis needs at least one security personnel to accompany him. He'll stay out of your way." 

"Certainly, Your Majesty," comes the distracted response, and once they've got the IVs finished they move to let him in. He climbs in awkwardly, trying to seat himself as far out of the way as possible. 

"I'm here, Noct," he says, hoping to quiet Noct's cries for him. 

Noct either doesn't hear him, or simply doesn't register the words. "Ignis," he says again. "Ignis!" He reaches his left hand out as much as the IV will allow him, fingers curling and uncurling. 

"May I—" Ignis stops, embarrassed by the way his voice cracks. Noct's distressed cries are distressing _him_ , and all the emotions he's held back this whole terrible night are coming to the surface, undone by Noct's desperate need for him, threatening to break free and break him apart. He clears his throat and tries again. "May I hold his hand?" 

"Go ahead. But be careful of the puncture wound." 

"Yes, the nail, I will, thank you." He takes Noct's hand, gentle and deliberate, his heart aching when Noct clings on tight, wrapping his fingers around him. 

"Ignis?" 

He sounds so young, _too_ young, and Ignis is taken back in time to the days when Noct was still only eight, and would seek him out after a nightmare, in those first weeks after his return from Tenebrae. The way he sounds now is too similar to the way he sounded then, and Ignis has to take a careful shuddering breath before he can answer. "Yes, it's me, Noct. I'm here." 

"Specs," he mumbles, quieting immediately, then winces as the doors slam shut, the vehicle starting up a few minutes later. "'m tired." 

"I know. It's fine, you can rest now. You're going to be fine." He doesn't know how true that actually is, but it does them both good to hear it. Noct does rest then, as much as he's able while the paramedics still poke and prod about him, and Ignis does his best to keep out of their way, though it's made more difficult by the tight grip on his hand that Noct refuses to relinquish. 

They tear through the city, sirens blaring, and reach the hospital in about fifteen minutes. Noct lets out a small upset cry as Ignis tugs his hand free, and then he's more or less forgotten as Noct's unloaded and rushed in by the paramedics. He's able to follow them into the ER, but they won't allow him to go further to wherever Noct's taken, and Ignis lacks the kind of authority the king holds. He's only able to stand and watch helplessly as Noct's whisked away, the hold on his emotions rapidly fraying, Noct's final cry echoing in his ears. 

He needs to head to the front lobby to get whatever information he can, and to find the king and play the waiting game with him, as well as text Gladio and Prompto to let them know what's going on and where to come to. He does none of that, and instead heads to the nearest bathroom. It's a single one, likely intended more for patients, so he locks himself in just in time for the tears to start. 

He buries his head in his hands, muffling the few quiet sobs escaping him, still not willing to truly let himself fall to pieces. Noct will be fine. They found him in time. He's badly hurt, but he's _alive_ , and that's what matters most. Anything else can be dealt with in due time, whatever may come. There's really no reason for Ignis to break down now that Noct's safe. No reason for grief to suddenly be choking him, making his throat and chest tighten until he can't hardly breathe, whole body going weak as he begins to tremble. No reason for sorrow to come cresting over him in waves, drowning him in it. Noct is _safe_ now. 

He knows all of that, logically, and yet... Somehow, the tears continue to come, trickling down his cheeks, wetting his face and neck uncomfortably, making it tickle. He can't get Noct's voice out of his head, calling his name over and over, whimpering pathetically when he'd lost the grip on Ignis' hand. Noct was looking to him for comfort, but he shouldn't have been. To be the one Noct turns to feels false and hollow when Ignis is the reason he needs comfort. 

Oh, Gladio had been correct about this being an unpredictable accident—Ignis isn't directly to blame for Noct's fall, he knows that still, and it's relieving—but indirectly, it _is_ his fault, for being the reason Noct wound up in a position for the fall to happen in the first place, he knows that regardless of what anyone may attempt to tell him. And to be his source of comfort when Noct doesn't remember their argument and Ignis' terrible words feels like a lie. 

Ignis doesn't like to be one to dwell on past mistakes and let them consume him, but he already knows he won't be able to let this one go easily. This isn't merely a simple mistake—this was a moment where he let heated emotions get the better of him and put Noct's very life in jeopardy. No matter what it takes, he's determined to _never_ let this happen a second time, assuming Noct ever forgives him enough to allow him near. But he'll gladly die before he ever lets himself again be the cause of Noct's life being in danger. 

He allows himself a few more minutes to cry, tears dripping down steadily, and then he takes a few deep breaths, letting them taper off as he tamps down his emotions once more. He wets a couple of paper towels, removing his glasses to scrub at the salty mess on his face, and then pats his cheeks dry before leaning sideways, tipping his head against the closed door, eyes shutting briefly. 

He's had a headache for hours, and his crying has only made it worse. He feels weary down to his bones, and from more than just not having slept all night. There's a long several days ahead of him—ahead of all of them—and he's reluctant to go out and face it. Here in this locked bathroom, he can feel distant and removed from it, as if staying in here can put it off indefinitely somehow. 

That isn't how reality works, however, and as it stands, Ignis isn't generally one to hide from it. So after another couple of deep breaths, he straightens up, putting his glasses back on as he schools his face into something more neutral, then unlocks the bathroom door and heads out. 

* * *

The first thing Noct's truly aware of as he gradually wakes is how little pain he feels. There's a few twinges here and there, a couple dull aches in places, but overall there's hardly any compared to his last memories. Instead, he mostly feels groggy, and calm, and sort of... good? in a kind of physically detached from reality way. If he had to pick one word to describe it, he'd go with _floaty_. It feels more like a Prompto word, but it's the best one he can think of right now. 

Yawning, he opens his eyes, unsurprised to find himself in a semi-dark hospital room, plenty of moonlight spilling in from the large windows. Most of his last memories are blurry, and he doesn't remember arriving here, but he definitely remembers being in the ambulance, holding tight to Ignis' hand. He yawns again, turning his head, wanting to look around the room, but instead his attention's immediately caught by a familiar blue figurine on the pillow. Carbuncle. His throat tightens at the sight. If his dad had put it there, he must have been worried for Noct's life. 

It makes him feel guilty. He's already put his dad through that fear once before. He'd never wanted to again, and he'd thought that being found would have meant he was fine, but Carbuncle's right there, so apparently not. How bad was he, he wonders, to make his dad worry like that? Was it just a possibility, or had he actually been close to... 

He tries to reach his hand up, to grab it, but there's an unexpected tug. Confused, he looks down at himself. There's a cast on his right arm, going to shortly before his elbow—he could feel it, so it's not surprising—but there's also an IV stuck in a spot near his left elbow, the tubing running to a half-full bag near the bed he's in. That's what had pulled when he moved. He's also got a little grey clip on his left middle finger, the cord from it running to a monitor that he assumes is tracking his vitals. 

Next to the monitor is his dad, asleep in an armchair pushed right up against the bed, and in the corner behind him, in another chair, Ignis is curled up, also asleep, his glasses slightly askew on his face. Carefully, he reaches out his left arm, mindful of the IV this time, and pokes at his dad's hand. 

His dad starts immediately, blinking a few times in confusion, and then seems to realise just who poked him. "Noctis," he breathes out. 

"I'm thirsty," Noct tells him. He's not actually too thirsty, but his mouth is dry and gross, and he wants some water to clear it out. 

His dad nods at him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he gets up, his movements a little stiff. He adjusts the bed into a half-reclined position first, stopping at Noct's "I'm good," then grabs a pitcher from a tray at the end of the bed, pouring some water out into a styrofoam cup. 

He helps Noct drink it, and Noct doesn't really need the help, but, well, his dad looks... haggard. He doesn't know how long it's been, but he can guess days, and if he hadn't just seen his dad asleep, Noct would have thought he hadn't slept for any of them. There's new worry lines on his forehead and dark circles under his eyes, and the stark relief shining from them as he looks at Noct is almost uncomfortable. So if this small thing makes his dad feel less worried, Noct can suck it up and let him help. 

The water clears that cottony taste from his mouth, and after a few sips Noct pulls away from the straw. "What happened?" he asks. 

His dad frowns, setting the water back on the tray before resuming his place in the armchair. "How much do you remember?" he counters, voice hushed, and right, Ignis is asleep. 

"Uh..." he says, lowering his own voice. He has to think. A lot of things are hazy. "I remember being in the building," he starts. "And talking on the phone with people... I was scooting across the floor? Everything hurt." 

His dad looks upset at that. Noct doesn't like that look on his face. He can't place when it happened, but he has a blurry memory of his dad sitting beside him, holding his good hand, head bowed as he cries. He hates that his dad cried for him. His dad already has enough to deal with without having to worry about him. 

He wants to distract him, take that look off his face, so he goes on. "I remember you and Ignis came. And the ambulance..." 

"And before? Can you recall going to that building, or the events prior to it?" 

That's a lot harder. He knows when he'd first been hurt, he couldn't remember at all. Now he's got some of it, but it feels like a confused mess in his head. "Think pieces are missing still," he admits. "I know I went in the building to avoid Ignis, but I can't remember why. Or how I got hurt." 

"You skipped the banquet," his dad says. There isn't any hint of negativity in his tone, but Noct still ducks his head, ashamed. He _does_ remember that clearly now, and why he'd done so, and though he still can't remember anything between going home from Prompto's to exploring the building, he has the feeling if he'd just been honest with someone about it, he might not be here in the hospital now. 

"I'm sorry," he mutters. 

His dad shakes his head. "What's done is done, Noctis. I mention it only to say that according to Ignis' word, you and he had an argument over it Saturday afternoon, whereupon you left your apartment in order to avoid him. At some point you wound up in that building and made your way up to the top floor, where you then somehow fell through the floor and subsequently down through two more floors." 

"I—I fell through three floors?" Noct croaks out after a stunned pause, trying to process that. He kind of remembers now, his dad asking him over the phone about the hole in the ceiling, and Gladio saying something about him falling through it, but _three_? He can't help but shudder, and hopes that memory never comes back. Just hearing it sounds terrifying. Experiencing it? He can do without that. 

"Yes." His dad looks pained again, and Noct figures he's going to have to get used to seeing that look for the next several weeks. "Some of your injuries were quite severe. I had hoped to heal you with magic, but ultimately I did not dare risk it." 

Severe. He can remember his injuries, remember how much everything hurt, remember how dazed and confused he was, but he hadn't really considered any of that severe. But, he can also remember seeing his own bone sticking out of his left leg, so he guesses that probably counts as severe. Funny he didn't think of it like that, because he can definitely remember his panic over it as well, being afraid it would be ruined forever— 

His eyes widen. What if it still is? It was bad enough his dad didn't try to use magic. What if they couldn't fix it, what if he won't ever be able to walk again—Astrals, he can't live with that, he can't live with not being able to walk... "My leg," he says, and it makes him wince to hear how small and scared he sounds. "Dad, my leg—" He's too afraid to throw back the blanket and look. He reaches over and grabs the Carbuncle figurine from his pillow, clenching it tight as his body tenses up. 

His dad sighs. "It's going to heal. You've got some plates and screws in it, and you'll need a few more surgeries and a lot of physical therapy, but the doctors assured me it'd be good as new eventually. You'll be fine." 

His leg's okay. It's going to heal. He'll walk again. Noct sags at that understanding, the tension draining out of him, though he doesn't relax his hold on Carbuncle. The little blue fox is comforting, even if it's only the figurine and not the guardian creature he'd seen in his dreams as a child. "What else?" 

"What else?" his dad repeats, brows furrowing in confusion. 

"My injuries." 

"Ah. Well. You shattered your wrist into multiple pieces; it has pins in it. You'll have that cast at least a month, perhaps a little more. You gave yourself a phenomenal bump on the head, leading to that concussion, but somehow you avoided splitting your head open. The concussion was fairly serious, however, grade three, which was the reason for your memory loss and blurred vision, as well as your difficulties with conversation. Likely the cause of your vomiting, too," his dad tells him. 

Noct makes a face, remembering that bout of sickness. It had hurt so much, and he'd thrown up on himself. He'd kept smelling it on his shirt after that, which only added to his nausea. He wonders if they threw the shirt away. Probably, he thinks, which sucks. He'd rather liked it. 

"You escaped broken ribs, but they are badly bruised," his dad continues. "Deep breaths are going to hurt for awhile. You were also very lucky not to fracture your hips, or do any damage other than bruising to your back. As it is, most of your body is bruised. You were given a tetanus shot for the nail you put in your hand, and you were on your way to dangerous levels of dehydration, so they gave you several bags of fluid." 

Noct listens with growing unease. Hearing the detached, no-nonsense way his dad is reciting it all off—clearly done so to keep from getting emotional over it—makes him realise how bad it must have been for everyone else, worrying about how badly he was hurt, what it would take for him to recover, whether he would even survive them... how long did they wait for news? His dad and Ignis have been sleeping in his room, looking as if they haven't left it once. His dad put Carbuncle by him. How close did he come to dying? 

"You had a severe infection of the wound in your leg." His dad just keeps going, and Noct doesn't want to hear any more. He doesn't stop him, though. "The cold you got from your friend and your weakened immune system in general let it catch hold fast, much faster than normally would happen, and once in it worked quickly, refusing to let go. They must have used half the city's stock of antibiotics to keep you alive. For a time, they weren't sure if—" His dad's voice does break then, unable to finish his sentence as his emotions finally overwhelm him. 

Noct looks at him in horror. "Dad," he says helplessly, as his dad hides his face in his hands, the facade of the stern king crumbling and giving way to the scared parent his dad must have been. "Dad, I—" What is he supposed to say? How does he make this right? "Dad, I'm sorry," he tries. "I don't remember the fall, but I didn't mean—" His dad lets out a sob, and Noct freezes, his words forgotten. His dad so rarely cries, at least around him. The last time Noct had actually _seen_ him cry for sure, outside of that hazy memory he's not sure is real, he'd been eight. He has no idea what to do. "Dad, don't—" 

"Don't you _ever_ do something so foolish again," his dad manages to choke out, uncovering his face as he looks hard at Noct. He's still crying, cheeks already soaked with tears running down into his beard. "You had no security, no one knew where you were—Noctis, we had no idea if we'd be able to find you in time, or at all, truly. And even after we did, you were so touch and go for days—" 

That elicits a few shuddering sobs, and Noct feels terrible. "I'm sorry," he says again. He looks over to the corner, where Ignis is at, hoping he's woken up from the noise, wanting direction on what to do, but Ignis is still snoring away, probably exhausted to the bone. So he sits up more, reaching his good hand out, not sure what he's aiming for but wanting to give _some_ kind of comfort. His dad grabs it tightly, squeezing it before letting go, and then to Noct's surprise he leans over, putting his arms around his shoulders in a careful hug. 

Noct tenses. He can't remember the last time his dad hugged him. Probably he'd been eight for that, too. It feels weird now, but at the same time there's a familiar kind of nostalgia to it, and it's... nice. He relaxes into it after a few minutes, burying his head in his dad's shoulder and wrapping his good arm around his side. "I'm sorry," he mumbles one final time. He can feel his own emotions choking him, tears building up as the enormity of what he's been through really starts hitting him. 

He'd almost _died_. Really and truly came close to death, even in the hospital. He'd been afraid of dying when he was still stuck in the building, but once he'd been found he'd assumed everything would be okay. Instead, he'd _still_ almost died. All things considered, he's lucky. Lucky he didn't break his back, lucky he'll be able to walk again... lucky his dad and Ignis aren't planning a funeral for him. 

Just the thought of that is enough to bring all his fears about dying back, and he can't help his own tears that start, wetting his dad's shirt. They probably both look ridiculous, holding each other and crying, but it's so comforting to feel his dad's arms around him that he doesn't care. "I was scared," he admits, just loud enough for his dad to hear. "I didn't know if you'd find me either. If I'd ever make it out of that building. Everything hurt so much..." 

His dad's arms tighten around him just a little, and that sends twinges of pain racing down his back, probably from the bruises, but he doesn't care one bit. "It's over now, son," his dad murmurs. "It's over. You lived, and you're going to be okay. You're safe. We found you in time." 

Noct suspects his dad is reassuring himself as much as him, but either way it's good to hear the words. He lets himself cry a little longer, and then exhaustion begins stealing over him, leaving him struggling to stay awake. "I'm sleepy," he says, reluctantly pulling away from his dad and wiping at his face. He wants to keep being held, but he needs to lie back. It's becoming too much effort to keep sitting up. 

"Sleep, then," his dad says. "You're recovering, and they still have you on a morphine drip. You'll probably be sleepy for a few more days." 

Oh. That explains the floaty way he's been feeling. He yawns, letting his eyes close as his dad begins lowering his bed again. "How many?" he asks. 

"Three or four, perhaps. It depends on how fast you get better." 

He fights to stay awake through the growing fatigue, shaking his head. "No. How many... unconscious?" 

His dad's silent a moment, leaving Noct to wonder if he'd heard, or if he'd only asked the question in his head. "Eight," his dad says finally. "You woke briefly a few times, for mere seconds, but not with any coherency. Not enough to count." 

Noct's mind reels. _Eight_? He'd lost just over a week? Gods, it's no wonder his dad's such a wreck. He wants to contemplate that more, but the fatigue's winning out, thoughts fading fast, and soon enough he gives up, everything falling away from him as he finally drifts back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just woke up and my brain is not functioning. Uh. Okay but thank you for the kudos/comments/bookmarks ♥ You're more than welcome to scream at me about this chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not Saturday, no worries. There's a reason for this ;D
> 
> A major thanks and shoutout to [squeem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeemu/); their help with this chapter was invaluable. Thank you again for all the awesome suggestions that made this chapter a million times better!

"Noct!"

That's all the warning Noct gets when he wakes and sits up before Prompto's rushing him, flinging his arms around him in a hug—although he's very careful about where and how hard he lets his arms land, Noct notes. He brings his good arm up to pat awkwardly at Prompto's shoulder, still trying to fully wake up. He doesn't feel floaty this time, but he's groggy still and there's only a dull, low-level pain in the worst of his injuries, so he must still have plenty of morphine coursing through him. 

There's also a twinge in his back that's growing worse, since he was only halfway to sitting up when his best friend ambushed him, and he knows he won't be able to stay like this without soon being in more pain. "Prompto, this is awkward," he says. 

Prompto lets go of him immediately, backing away as his face turns beet red, stammering out apologies. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I was just excited you're awake!" 

Noct rolls his eyes. "Not the hug, you dork," he says, although truthfully, yeah, that had been a little awkward too. "My position." 

"Oh. Sorry dude!" 

Gladio steps up, helping him adjust the bed until he's propped up comfortably. "How ya feeling?" he asks, taking a seat in the armchair near the bed. 

Noct shrugs. He finds it odd the question would come from Gladio, but looking around the room, he doesn't see his dad or Ignis anywhere, so maybe he feels obligated. "Fine," he says. "Where's my dad? And Specs?" 

"They went with my dad down to the cafeteria for a bite to eat a while ago. They should be back soon. Any pain? Your nurse wanted us to ask," Gladio adds at Noct's confused look. 

"...A little," Noct concedes after a quick internal debate. He doesn't like admitting to pain, but he's had enough of it lately and he doesn't want it to get worse. There will still be plenty in his future, he's sure. 

Gladio nods, and presses the call button on the side of the bed, informing the nurse once he responded. 

"I'm glad you're okay," Prompto says then from next to Gladio. "They kept you asleep for days! We weren't sure when you were gonna wake up." 

Noct nods. "Dad said eight." He still has trouble wrapping his head around that. He'd lost more to the coma when he was younger, but that doesn't make it easier to accept this missing time now. That's a week of his life he's never going to get back. 

"You scared a lot of people, kid." 

Noct glances down at his lap, wishing Gladio hadn't said that. He knows he did, and he hates the reminder. "Sorry for worrying you guys," he says quietly. 

Gladio scoffs, making him look up. "Worried? Who was worried? Knew you'd make it, Princess." He's grinning as he says the words, but his tone's gruff. Noct feels oddly warmed by it. Sometimes he's still not sure how Gladio feels about him. 

"Yeah, yeah. Glad you have faith in me," Noct says. They all fall quiet as the nurse comes in to check on him, and Noct answers her questions about his pain honestly, though it embarrasses him to do so. She adjusts something with his IV a few minutes later, and then takes her leave. 

"Can I sign your cast?" Prompto asks once they're alone again. 

Noct blinks, holding up his broken wrist questioningly. Prompto nods, grinning as he pulls a black sharpie from his pocket. Trust him to come prepared for something like that. "Go for it," Noct tells him with a shrug. 

He watches with amusement as Prompto begins carefully writing his name in sprawling block letters along the length of the cast, impressed with his friend's artistic talent. "You want in on this too?" he asks Gladio as Prompto pulls out a second sharpie, this one yellow, and begins colouring the letters in. 

Gladio snorts, shaking his head. "Maybe later. Prompto seems pretty content to hog all the space right now." 

"Yeah. Uh, what's in the news? About... me?" He's hesitant as he asks the question, because he hates having his personal life splashed across newspapers and tabloids and television screens and internet articles and who knows what else, but he'd rather be prepared for it now than be caught unawares when he goes back home. 

"Wow, egotistical much?" Gladio teases. 

"Shut up. Jerk." 

"Don't worry your pretty little head, Princess, your introversion has been maintained. It's been leaked that you're in the hospital, but nothing more. Media's been going crazy speculating on what illness you have. Top contender's pneumonia right now." 

Relief floods him. Word will get out about some of his injuries eventually, and he's prepared for that much, but he'd rather his thoughtless adventure through that building never reach public ears. "Oh," he says. "Good." He's so glad it's not in the news that he doesn't even care about the speculation. Let them speculate, as long as it stays that way. 

"Done!" Prompto says, pulling back and recapping his sharpie with a flourish. Noct looks down at his cast, entirely unsurprised to find Prompto's drawn a small chocobo next to his name. It's a pretty good one, too. There's also a speech bubble coming from it, saying 'get well soon!' and it makes Noct laugh. His best friend is such a dork. 

"Thanks." 

Prompto grins. "Anytime, dude. Hey, do you remember the fall?" 

Gladio rolls his eyes as he shoves at Prompto's shoulder. "Don't ask him about that. He'll talk about it if he wants to." 

"'s fine," Noct says quickly, before Prompto can start apologising. "I don't really remember it though. Doctors said I might not ever. Hit my head pretty hard I guess." 

"Yeah... you sounded bad on the phone." 

"Sorry," Noct offers, hating the awkward turn the conversation's taking. He looks towards the door. Gladio had said his dad and Ignis had just went for some lunch, and should be back soon... He supposes it'd be too much to ask of the Astrals for them to walk in right now and spare him any more of Prompto's questions. He can see the burning curiosity in his friend's eyes and knows that he'll keep probing even without meaning to. He has too much of a habit of talking without thinking to stay quiet. 

"Heard you got even worse later on," Prompto goes on, and Noct tries not to sigh. "Could you tell?" 

"Yeah, I guess," Noct mutters, glancing at the door again. 

"Do you think—" 

"Gladio, sign my cast," Noct orders, interrupting Prompto as he shoves his arm towards their faces. He's bedridden, so he can't really flee, and pretending to sleep just means he'll miss Ignis. He doesn't want that. Ignis and his dad were the two people he wanted to see most when he was stuck in that building. They're the two people that give him the biggest feelings of safety and comfort in his life, the two people he trusts the most. And though he knows he's okay now, he's not going to truly believe it until he hears _both_ of them say it, even if it makes him feel kind of stupid to think that. 

"Of course, _Your Highness_." Gladio rolls his eyes, snatching one of Prompto's sharpies from his pocket. 

"H-hey!" Prompto stammers, his face turning red as Gladio's hand invades his jeans. 

"And stop molesting my best friend," Noct adds with a sigh. 

Gladio smirks. "Don't see him complaining too much." 

Prompto's face goes even redder. "You're such a jerk," he whines, and then seems to remember just who it is he's talking to, eyes widening as he steps away. "That is—I mean!—um—" 

Noct only laughs. "He's got you pegged," he tells Gladio as his shield begins signing his name—and in flawless calligraphy, too. He's such a competitive show-off sometimes, it drives Noct nuts. But he's glad to see his friends getting a little more comfortable with each other, even if Prompto _did_ immediately backtrack. If there's any good to be had from this whole stupid mess, his friends becoming friends with each other is one thing he'll happily accept. 

* * *

Even though the king had said there was a good possibility of it, Ignis isn't prepared for it when he walks back into Noct's room ahead of Regis to find Noct awake and sitting up, chatting away with Gladio and Prompto as Gladio signs his name on Noct's arm cast. For a moment he falters, taking in the unexpected sight, and then he swallows hard and forces himself to keep going into the room, lest Regis or Clarus bump into him. 

"Noct, it's good to see you awake," he says, meaning it as he steps up beside the bed, subtly looking him over. Regis had said Noct had woken last night, for a brief time, but seeing Noct awake and talking for himself is far more relieving than it has any right to be. Noct doesn't look much different than he had yesterday afternoon, when he'd still been sleeping, at least as far as his injuries go, but seeing him animated, eyes shining and colour in his cheeks as he jokes with Prompto and growls at Gladio's teasing... Ignis has to take a deep breath before he embarrasses himself with an unsightly display of emotion. 

"Uh, yeah," Noct says, giving one last glare to Gladio before he peers up at Ignis through his fringe, not quite meeting Ignis' eyes. "I'm awake..." He looks back down, good hand picking at some loose threads on the hospital blanket covering his lap. 

Noct's acting awkward. He rarely has reason to do that, at least around Ignis, unless he's embarrassed or trying to avoid him over something. Immediately Ignis' brain goes into overdrive, attempting to suss out the possible reasons. Perhaps he's embarrassed about his whole ordeal and everyone having to make a fuss over him. Or perhaps he remembers calling for Ignis and reaching for his hand in the ambulance, and that's the source of his embarrassment. 

Or... Noct remembers everything that lead to his fall, and knows Ignis had a hand in it, and would rather not speak to him now. Ignis swallows again. It's what he's feared the most, fretting over it all week long, his brain having little else to do than ruminate on his fault in this disaster while waiting for Noct to wake, but he's still selfish enough to desperately hope he's wrong. He can't live without Noct—in any sense. 

He doesn't realise he hasn't responded until Regis clears his throat, breaking into the awkward silence that's descended over the room. "Gladiolus, Prompto, why don't you two head to the cafeteria and grab yourselves some lunch? They have an excellent sandwich selection." 

Ignis glances to them. Gladio looks ready to protest, but Prompto squeaks out "Yes sir, Your Majesty, sir!" as he begins backing towards the door. Ignis shakes his head, lip curling up in slight amusement. Prompto's spent the better part of a week here, coming in the afternoons once school is over, and he's no less intimidated by the king than he was the first afternoon they'd met. 

Regis looks to Noct once Prompto and Gladio are both firmly out the door. "Noctis, would you think terribly of your old man if he went home for an hour to shower and freshen up? I'm afraid Clarus forgot to bring me a fresh change of clothes this morning." 

Noct makes a face. "Ew, Dad, no. Go. Don't stink up my hospital room with your old man sweat." 

Regis arches an eyebrow. "I believe the only 'stink' in here, as you call it, is you, my son who hasn't showered in a week and a half." 

A startled laugh escapes Ignis, and he attempts to smother it with a cough, but judging by the way Noct colours, he doesn't succeed very well. 

"Ugh, just go already," Noct grumbles. 

Regis smiles. "Are you giving your old man an order?" 

"Yeah. What's it to you?" 

Ignis watches the two of them tease each other as Regis gathers his things. He knows what the king is doing, giving him some time to speak to Noct privately, and he appreciates it, but he's also glad the two of them can still have such a comfortable, close relationship despite not getting to see each other nearly as much as either of them would like. Lately Noct has been sullen and antagonistic with his father as much as Ignis, and he's worried for the state of their relationship. He doesn't want Noct to regret things several years down the line when it's too late to fix them. 

Soon enough Regis takes his leave, Clarus accompanying him, and then it's only the two of them. Ignis takes a seat in the armchair by the bed that the king's spent most of his time in, his stomach twisted in anxious knots. Noct's still not looking at him, instead clutching his Carbuncle figurine tightly as he stares down at his lap. 

"I'm glad you're well," Ignis offers quietly. It feels almost inadequate. Saying he's glad doesn't even begin to encompass those first sleepless hours, just waiting for _any_ news of Noct, wondering when—if—he would make it out of surgery. It doesn't cover the long nights spent standing by his bed, holding his limp hand and praying to whichever Astral would listen that he would wake up again. It doesn't express the helpless terror he'd felt standing with his hand on the king's shoulder as he'd sobbed over his son's feverish form, his body clinging desperately to life through the infection ravaging it. 

But he can't place all that on Noct. It would be unfair, and cruel, and Ignis has hurt him enough already. Trite but heartfelt relief will have to do. 

"I... sorry for worrying you. I don't remember a lot still, but... sorry." Noct finally looks up then, and Ignis' stomach unknots at the realisation Noct _doesn't_ seem to remember their fight, even as he feels terribly guilty for his relief. He does his best not to show it as Noct's eyes meet his, his face serious. "I know it was stupid. I could have died. I almost did." 

Ignis shakes his head, even more glad he hadn't unfairly burdened him. Noct understands even without knowing, and he has no need to. The past eight days will be his alone. "It doesn't matter now. What matters is that it's over, and you're alright." He reaches out, placing his hand atop Noct's, letting his fingers curl briefly over it. "Still, I admit that I would prefer you never to do something so reckless again." 

"'Cause you don't want me making your job harder?" Noct tries, going for a joke, but it's all entirely too raw for Ignis to make light of it yet. 

"No," Ignis says, his voice soft. "Because you are my dearest friend, and I would never forgive myself were anything to happen to you; I would be lost if you were ever to die." He feels his face heat up, uncomfortable with being so candid, but after coming so close to losing him, he doesn't want to let it go unsaid. 

"Specs, I—" Noct stops, and takes a shuddering breath, swallowing whatever he intended to say. "I promise," he whispers instead, and they leave it at that. 

* * *

"Medication," Ignis says quietly, setting down a couple of pills and a glass of water on the coffee table in front of Noct. 

Noct makes a face, reaching out for them. One's a painkiller, which he doesn't mind because the ache in his leg has been growing steadily this past hour, but the other is an anti-anxiety med, and he still feels ambivalent about it. So he's had several nightmares and _maybe_ a panic attack. Or two, whatever. Big deal. But his dad said it was either the pills or talking to a counselor for a few sessions, and talking to someone just because he almost died due to his own idiocy seems stupid. He'll get over it on his own. 

He swallows them down with a large gulp of water, setting the glass back on the table, and watches as Ignis heads back to the kitchen to finish washing the last of the dishes from their lunch. Noct's been home for about two weeks now, and Ignis has been here for most of every day since to help him, or at least as much as Noct will allow him. 

Which means it's not too different from before his fall. Ignis mostly makes him meals and brings him anything he needs and takes care of the apartment. Noct won't let him actually help him move through the apartment. He wants to do it himself. A broken leg and a broken wrist make it hard to get around on his own, especially when he only has crutches, but he's managing to hobble awkwardly about. They'd offered him a wheelchair, but he'd refused. He doesn't ever want to be in one again. 

At least most of his bruises have healed up. Some of the worst ones are still a fading yellow. And the puncture wound in his palm is nothing more than a faint scar now, noticeable only if he's looking really hard for it. All his other scratches have healed up fine too, no scars for them, which he's thankful for. He has enough already. And he doesn't want any obvious reminders of this entire incident. He doesn't remember the fall itself, at least, and probably never will, which is the only lasting effect from his concussion. All his other memories have come back though. 

Including the argument with Ignis. And what Ignis had said... He sighs, idly browsing through his social media feed on his phone, trying to put it out of his mind. Ignis hasn't brought it up, so either he thinks Noct doesn't remember it, or he doesn't think it's worth mentioning by now. He should just let it go. 

It doesn't take long for his medications to kick in and make him sleepy and ready for a nap, though he's only been up a couple of hours. He wants to fight it, because he's still got a lot of schoolwork he's trying to catch up on, but he's learned by now that doing so will only make him grumpy. "Gonna nap," he says around a yawn, struggling not to let his eyes close. His bed's a lot more comfortable than the couch. 

Ignis looks up from the other corner of the couch, where he'd settled with some report that he's no doubt going to make Noct read through later, when he's better and Ignis has stopped feeling sorry for him. "Do you need help?" 

Noct shakes his head, reaching for his crutches. Why does Ignis persist in asking? He knows he's only going to get a refusal. Of course, that's how Ignis always is. Most of the time Noct appreciates it. He's not good at asking for help. That's how he got in this mess in the first place... 

It's difficult hauling himself to his feet—foot, really—when one hand is damaged, but the fingers still work, which is all he really needs to hold onto the crutch, so after some awkward manuevering he's up, head swimming a little from grogginess, hoping he'll make it to his room before passing out. It's not that far, but when he's on crutches and fighting to stay awake, it feels like he's crossing half of the Lucian continent. 

He's aware of Ignis watching him, ready to leap in and help in a heartbeat, and he hates it. It makes him feel like he's an invalid, and sure, technically he kind of _is_ , but he's not so injured that he can't do _anything_ for himself, and he doesn't like feeling that Ignis is just waiting for him to screw up so he can say 'I told you so'—only phrased differently because Ignis would never _actually_ say 'I told you so'—in that calm, no-nonsense voice of his that doesn't have the least bit of smugness but somehow still manages to sound entirely smug all the same. 

He makes it to the corner of the coffee table—which Ignis had pulled out the first day to give his crutches room—but he misjudges how much space he needs to go around it, and bangs his unbroken leg into it. It hurts, but he doesn't really have time to register the sharp flare of pain, because he loses his balance, crutches slipping from him as he starts to fall. A scream lodges in his throat, irrational fears rushing up to choke him, but Ignis' arms are around him before he can truly panic, steadying him and lowering him back to the couch. 

It doesn't take him long to calm, thanks to the drugs coursing through him, and he pulls away as soon as his heart stops pounding, embarrassment and irritation flooding him, his face heating up. He reaches for his crutches again, preparing to get back up. 

"Let me help you," Ignis says, holding out a helping hand. 

"I can do it myself," Noct snaps, leaning away from him. He scowls as he pulls himself to his feet, correctly reading the frustrated look on Ignis' face. 

"There's no need for stubbornness." 

"There's _no need_ for help, either," he says, voice vaguely mocking as he focuses on moving himself past the coffee table and towards the end of the couch Ignis had been sitting at. 

"There's also no shame in asking for help when you need it," Ignis says, his tone sharp, and Noct flinches, irritation growing. It's too close to his own thoughts of earlier, and everything he's been stressing over these past months, and he hates the reminder. 

He doesn't respond, just wanting to focus on getting to his room to sleep, but he can't help but wonder if Ignis got that jab in on purpose, if he's suspected all this time that Noct wasn't just being a brat and ignoring his royal duties because he didn't feel like it. Ignis knows him pretty well, and though he usually helps Noct without Noct having to ask—sometimes even before Noct realises himself that something is wrong—maybe making him ask is some new preparation for being king some day. He won't be able to rely on other countries just _knowing_ when he needs help, after all. 

He gets to the end of the couch without incident, but he's still sleepy and focused on not so generous thoughts about Ignis' motives that he doesn't pay as much attention as he should, and instead of setting his crutch down onto the wood floor, he jams it into the couch. Balance lost, he goes tumbling backward with a panicked cry, cast smacking against the floor, and the pill he took earlier isn't nearly enough to keep the tears of pain from filling his eyes as agony races up and down his leg. 

"Noct!" 

Ignis rushes over to him, crouching down beside him as he slowly sits up, but he's still irritated, and even more embarrassed now, so he turns his face away, feeling a few tears drip down his cheeks. He swipes his good hand at them, scrubbing them away harshly. "I'm fine," he says, even though his leg's really hurting. 

Ignis sighs. The audible frustration and resignation in it make Noct feel guilty, his irritation fading. He knows Ignis only means well, and it's not his fault that Noct feels like he _has_ to do it himself, so when he's ready to get back up a few minutes later, pain abating a little, he gives in and allows Ignis to help him to his room. 

They get him into his bed, and Noct finally allows his eyes to close as his head hits the pillow. He feels the bed dip down as Ignis sits on the edge of it, and then Ignis' fingers are gliding tentatively in smooth circles across his back, under his shirt, careful to avoid his old scars. Noct cracks an eye open, turning his head enough to look at him—Ignis doesn't touch him very often, not like this anyway—but he can't tell what Ignis is thinking. His face is a little red, though. Noct gives a mental shrug and lets his eye shut again. It feels soothing, and it's lulling him to sleep even through the pain in his leg, so he's not going to protest it. 

"What is it that has you quite adamant about not accepting help?" Ignis quietly asks a few minutes later, when Noct's in that weird in-between stage of being awake and asleep. 

"Have to do it myself," he mumbles, with some effort. 

"Yes, but why?" 

Noct breathes out slowly. He can tell Ignis isn't going to let this go, and anyway, it seems stupid to keep it to himself. He just wants to air out their fight and finish it if necessary and not have it hanging over his head any longer. He wants to ask for help, because he's tired of feeling so paralysed by his fears that he can't do the things expected of him. "I brought it on myself," he starts, the words running together a little in his sleepiness. 

Ignis' hand stills in its motions for a moment. "Pardon?" he asks, sounding startled. 

Yawning, Noct struggles to explain. "I remember... our fight," he says, pausing for a second yawn. He's not going to be able to have this talk now, but at least Ignis will have his words to think on until he wakes up. "Shoulda just told you what was wrong. Instead I ran off, and... all this." 

"Noct. This wasn't your fault," Ignis says, but that's the last thing Noct hears as sleep finally wins the battle. 

When he wakes up later, he's alone. Late afternoon sunlight is filtering in through the blinds on his window, and he squints, turning his head away, fumbling for his phone to check the time. _4:27_ , it informs him. He's been asleep about three hours. He wonders if Ignis has been fretting the whole time on the talk they need to have. 

Not that he's looking forward to it either. But if it has to be done, he'd rather just get it over with quickly. Sitting up, he reaches for his crutches, sliding out of bed carefully. He makes it into the living room without any mishaps, settling himself down on the couch—the end away from the coffee table this time. 

"Good morning," Ignis greets him from the kitchen where he's brewing yet more coffee. His tone is fondly teasing, and Noct rolls his eyes, letting out a grunt in lieu of a return greeting. Seems Ignis hasn't been worrying too much, then. Or, the more likely option, he's repressing all his worries. He's quite good at that. 

Ignis heads over to him a few minutes later, two steaming mugs in hand. He hands one to Noct, and Noct takes it, though he doesn't like coffee much. He likes the way it makes him feel cool, though. "I owe you an apology," Ignis says, once he's settled with his own mug. 

Noct blinks. _That's_ certainly not how he expected this talk to start. "Huh?" 

"I said... a rather cruel thing to you, the day after the banquet. It was out of line, and I shouldn't have said it. I apologise." 

"Yeah, I—thanks," Noct says, caught off guard as he looks down at his mug. He appreciates it, because the words _had_ hurt, even if he can admit to himself now they weren't wrong, and maybe they've also been a little behind the reason why he hasn't wanted to accept much of Ignis' help, but he'd thought Ignis would immediately jump into what he'd said before drifting off earlier. 

"I understand if you would rather have nothing to do with me from now on," Ignis goes on quietly. 

They're so unexpected that it takes a moment for Ignis' words to really register, but when they do he jerks his head up, frowning. "Why would I— _Ignis_. This wasn't your fault." 

Ignis frowns as well, ducking his head to avoid Noct's incredulous look. "So everyone wants to tell me, but you would not have been in that building were it not for me." 

Noct shakes his head a little, frustrated but not really surprised. Ignis has a penchant for taking the blame over things that aren't his fault. "You didn't make me run off, or go into that building," he points out, the words more irritable sounding than he means them to be. He doesn't want Ignis hating himself over this. 

"It was my words that made you run." 

"Ugh." Noct sighs. "I could have stayed. And... I understand why you said them. I kinda... was being difficult," he admits, the closest he'll come to acknowledging that he needed to hear them. 

Ignis sighs, finally glancing up at him again. He doesn't look any less convinced of his guilt in Noct's fall, but he doesn't carry on in trying to prove it. "Prompto alluded to the fact that you weren't merely skipping out on the banquet for fun. That perhaps something was wrong. Your own words this afternoon seemed to confirm that." 

He takes a moment to sip at the coffee before answering, delaying the inevitable, looking down at the mug after he lowers it back to his lap. "I guess," he finally says, his words quiet. "But I still... I mean this wouldn't have happened if I'd just told you that." 

There's a soft clunk as Ignis sets his mug on the table, and Noct knows the conversation has to be serious if he's abandoning his coffee for it. "It seems we are both eager to claim the blame for this," he says, his tone somewhat rueful. "Perhaps Gladio _is_ right, after all." 

"Yeah?" 

"He insists your fall was an unpredictable accident, a culmination of events that led to it, and that it is impossible to lay blame at any one person's feet. While I am not certain I entirely agree with him, it seems we both could endeavour to place less fault in ourselves. It is most certainly not _your_ fault, though we both could stand to make better choices in the future. I to control my sharp tongue, and you to be more open about what is going on." 

Noct nods, attempting a small smile for him, though he still doesn't look up. Ignis' words sound nice, but he doesn't believe them. It has to be his fault, way more than it being Ignis'. He's the one that made all those dumb choices, not Ignis. "Deal," he says anyway, not wanting to hash it all out. 

"Now, would you care to tell me what _has_ been bothering you the past several weeks?" 

He makes a face, and sips at his coffee again. "Not really." 

"Noct. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong." 

"I know, I know." He finally looks up, meeting Ignis' eyes. He doesn't look irritated or reproving, just... concerned. Like he cares, and genuinely wants to help because he doesn't want Noct upset. It crumbles Noct's resistance faster than anything else ever could, and he sighs. "I don't know what's wrong." 

Ignis is quiet, waiting for more, so after a hesitant moment Noct goes on. "I know I have to do things, I know how important they are and that I have to learn all this stuff about being a good king some day, and I _want_ to, I want to do these things and I want to be a good king, but sometimes I—I dunno, I can't." 

"Can't?" 

He gives a half-hearted shrug, leaning forward to set his own mostly full mug next to Ignis'. The coffee isn't making him feel very cool right now. "Just... freeze up. Can't make myself. Like that report. Then you get mad when I don't do something. And I feel bad, but..." 

"But instead of the guilt pushing you to do it, you avoid it even more," Ignis finishes for him. "Am I correct in this assumption?" 

"Yeah," he mumbles, looking away again. He feels stupid admitting this. He still doesn't know why he can't just _do_ the things he needs to, without all these dumb thoughts in his head. 

"You're overwhelmed, perhaps?" 

"I guess," Noct agrees. "Kinda." Ignis isn't _wrong_ , precisely, he has been overwhelmed, but it seems like such a small, easy word to describe the crushing weight of the pressure he's been suffocating under these past months. And it doesn't encompass the fear of being a disappointment that so often accompanies the pressure, but he's not sure he could ever bring himself to mention _that_. The other part is embarrassing enough. 

Ignis grabs his mug again, seemingly swallowing half of it in one large gulp. He stares down at it pensively. "You have a heavy burden weighing on your shoulders," he says after a brief silence. "An unfair one, perhaps, but one that I do my best to lessen for you as much as possible. I regret that I failed to realise it was still not enough." 

" _This_ isn't your fault either," Noct protests. 

"As your advisor, I'm meant to anticipate your needs and assist with any issues you might be having. I was unaware anything was truly wrong until Prompto brought my attention to it." 

"Because I was being a brat." 

"You are often a brat," Ignis says, ignoring Noct's insulted grumbling at that. "You are rarely truly difficult and combative, or shirking in your royal responsibilities." 

Noct stays silent. He can't protest too much, because he _had_ wanted Ignis to pick up on the fact that he didn't mean to be so difficult most of the time. Even though he went out of his way to be a jerk when Ignis _did_ try to ask him about his behaviour. At least in this, he thinks maybe the blame lies within them both. 

Ignis finishes off his coffee in a second gulp, setting the now-empty mug down. "I can't do everything for you," he says. "And there are some things I won't be able to let up on, no matter that I might personally wish to. But I will do what I can from now on to see to it that things don't become too overwhelming for you, and to help you work through anything that might give you trouble." 

Noct's curious. "How?" 

It's clear Ignis isn't expecting that question. He blinks a few times, quiet as he seems to gather his thoughts. "The report, for example," he says eventually. "I suppose I could have broken it down into smaller sections for you to manage over a period of days rather than handing you the whole thing at once. Had it been truly too much, I could have summarised and helped you get by on that, or even tried to find time to go over it with you. There are solutions, Noct, and I am willing to work with you to find them." 

Ignis makes it sound so easy. And sure, maybe in some ways it really is that easy. Ignis would move the heavens and the earth to help Noct, he knows that. And he trusts Ignis. After all, Ignis found him in that building when he said he would. Ignis always keeps his promises, and this one shouldn't be any different. He believes in that much, at least. "Okay..." Noct says cautiously. 

Face solemn, Ignis looks at him, waiting until Noct meets his eyes before going on. "I simply ask in return that you inform me when you are finding something overwhelming or difficult to get done. No more skipping out on things or pretending you can't be bothered. Once again, I cannot help you if I do not know there is a problem. Is that agreeable?" 

He _wants_ it to be. He wants to believe it will be that easy, that the next time he finds himself tempted to turn towards video games or hanging out with Prompto instead of what he needs to do, that he'll be able to go to Ignis and ask for help. But he also knows himself, and he knows his tendency to stay silent rather than admit there's a problem. "I guess..." he says, but he can't help biting at his lip after he says it. 

Ignis gives him a polite look of disbelief, not even needing words, and Noct sighs, knowing he's already doing the very thing Ignis wants him to _stop_ doing. "Okay, okay," he says, groaning. "I _know_." He pauses, trying to push down that squirming feeling at the thought of being so open. "What if... I mean... I don't know if I could always manage to tell you." 

"You're doing so now," Ignis points out. "That's a step in the right direction." 

"It's not that easy..." 

"Can you explain what it is that has you reluctant to let me know when you're needing assistance?" 

Ugh. Ignis' face has gone all concerned again, and Noct _hates_ it. He doesn't want to worry him, but he wants this conversation to be over already. He looks at his coffee, wondering if it's too cold now to drink and not have to keep trying to respond with answers he doesn't really know how to explain. Probably it is. He shrugs instead, averting his eyes to his lap, where he begins to pull at a stray thread dangling from the hem of his shirt. 

"Noct," Ignis says gently. "Please help me to understand where you are coming from, so that I may help you." There's nothing but patient understanding in his voice, no pushiness or irritation, and for some stupid reason it makes Noct want to cry. It's so unfair for Ignis to be this understanding when Noct's _still_ being difficult. "If you are concerned that I am going to judge you—" 

"No, that's not it," Noct says immediately, and then backtracks. "I guess, maybe some, yeah, but not really. I know you better, Ignis." 

"Then...?" Ignis prompts him, trying to encourage him. 

"It's just... hard to talk sometimes," Noct mumbles, pulling harder at the thread, watching as it starts to unravel, wrecking the neat stitching. He feels like that sometimes, he thinks, and then snorts at the realisation he's comparing himself to a shirt. 

There's no answer to that, but a quick glance shows Ignis to be thinking, his eyes going unfocused as he retreats into his mind. "What if we came up with a way for you to indicate you're feeling overwhelmed without having to verbally inform me?" he asks a few minutes later. 

Noct considers it. He's not sure _how_ they would do it, but it sounds a lot easier than having to actually talk. "Maybe." 

"It would have to be tailored to each situation, however," Ignis continues to muse. "Perhaps turning a report face-down if you're having difficulty getting through it, or leaving a copy of your schedule on the table if the thought of attending training or a Council meeting seems daunting... We could set a time limit for some things, and I will assume you are overwhelmed if they are still left undone when the time expires." 

Noct listens to him, a bit of hope slowly spreading through him as Ignis goes on listing potential solutions. He still has some doubts that it won't be _quite_ that easy, but the things Ignis is proposing sound practical, and reasonable, and it's enough to make things suddenly seem a whole lot less hopeless. He doesn't have to be alone in this, and for Ignis, he can at least try and admit to his problems. After all, Ignis never gave up on him, not when he was being a brat, not when he was stuck in that building, and not even now. He owes it to Ignis not to give up either. "Yeah," he says, nodding. "That could work." 

"We'll get you through this, Noct, one way or another," Ignis tells him, and Noct gives him a brilliant smile, finally beginning to believe him. 

"Thanks, Specs," he says quietly, but the words don't feel like enough to convey the relief he feels. It's awkward, but he manages to slide his butt across the couch cushions using only his left hand for support, careful not to bump his broken leg into anything. Ignis looks at him with brows furrowed, but Noct only grins at him. Eventually he reaches Ignis' side, and after a hesitation in which he wonders if Ignis will kill him, leans his head against Ignis' shoulder, wrapping his good arm around his waist in a semi-hug. 

Ignis makes an embarrassed noise, body going rigid with tension, but after a long moment when Noct refuses to move away, he unfreezes, cautiously twisting his body towards Noct as he brings his own arms up to return the hug, though his movements are still a little stiff. Noct ignores it though, burying his head in Ignis' chest as he curls his fingers into his shirt, enjoying the contact he so rarely gets. They don't really hug often, but in the moment it seems appropriate. He's lucky to have Ignis. 

Eventually Ignis breathes out slowly, relaxing into the embrace. "Glad you're alive," he says softly. 

Noct smiles. "Yeah. Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I wanted Noct's and Ignis' talk to be a lot less open, but throughout editing they just kept insisting on saying more, until I threw up my hands and said fuck it. I hope it was satisfying enough! I'd love to hear your thoughts one last time. And as always, thank you very much for all of the comments, kudos, and bookmarks on the previous chapter, every one of them brightened up my day <3 I enjoyed writing this fic, and I hope you enjoyed reading it!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Bonus not-so-tiny epilogue!
> 
> For squeem, who said: "and ughghghhh I really want a tiny epilogue after this (in a daydreaming way) about Noct and Ignis being more comfortable about this and Ignis dropping off a report for Noct to read and they're actually able to banter about it or Noct can complain and sigh and Ignis can tease him or vice versa" and instead of a tiny epilogue, I wrote a thousand words that wandered more into domestic fluff than banter.
> 
> Unlike the rest of the fic which stays strictly gen, this nudges over into Ignoct territory.

"You have dinner scheduled with your father tomorrow evening at six," Ignis says, "and training before that at three with Gladio." 

"Yeah," Noct agrees, barely looking up from his phone to Ignis standing before him. He's been glued to his phone for the last half hour, trading rapid messages back and forth with who Ignis can only assume is Prompto. He doesn't know what the conversation is about, but it must be important to have caught Noct's attention so thoroughly. 

"I'm leaving a report for you on the table," he goes on. "It's a summary of the different proposals for the current refugee situation with Galahd. I've broken each proposal up into its own section, so please don't feel the need to read the whole report all in one go." _Don't get overwhelmed_ , is what he's really saying, but he knows Noct will catch the meaning inherent in his words. 

"Mm-hmm," Noct acknowledges as he types another message out. 

"It's not a pressing matter, but your father did want you to be aware of them, so you could follow along with the next Council meeting." 

"Okay." 

"Noct," Ignis says, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "I assure you, I do not talk only to hear my own voice." 

Noct rolls his eyes, briefly glancing up to meet Ignis' irritated gaze. "Yeah, I'm listening," he says. "Report on the table, refugee situation, not pressing. Got it, Specs. I'll get it read, I promise." 

"You have a week," Ignis says, and he knows too that Noct will understand he's being given a week before he assumes Noct is becoming overwhelmed and needs assistance. Though in the four months since Noct's fall, he's become a lot more comfortable in seeking Ignis out and asking for help when he finds himself starting to struggle. A surge of anxiety rises in his stomach at thinking of how much closer the two of them have become now, but he pushes it down, determined to ignore _those_ particular feelings. 

Letting out a huff, Noct finally sets his phone aside. "Work, work, work. You're a harsh taskmaster, Ignis," he grumbles, but there's a teasing tone to his voice and a small smile on his face that belies the complaining words. 

"Yes, well, I'd be remiss in my duties if I turned out such a lazy prince." 

Noct laughs. "I guess you've already been 'remiss in your duties' then." 

Ignis feigns a resigned sigh, shaking his head. "Astrals help Insomnia when you become king." 

Noct kicks at him, though not very hard. "Sit with me," he says then. 

"I need to get back to my own apartment," Ignis demurs. "There are things I must attend to." He _wants_ to stay, though, and he finds himself hoping Noct will persist in asking, even if he'll still have to say no. 

Noct pouts. "Just for a little while?" 

He'd planned to turn any second offers down, as he really _does_ still have work to be done, but his weak resistance crumbles entirely in the face of those hopeful eyes. His stomach anxiously protests again, but he drops obediently down on the sofa next to Noct, allowing him to curl up into his side, though the contact makes him stiff and uncomfortable, so concerned with accidentally doing something wrong, or presuming too much. 

Noct's warm though, his presence solid and comforting against him, and after several tense minutes Ignis allows himself to relax just the smallest bit, even daring—if ever so cautiously—to free his arm out from under Noct and drape it gently over Noct's shoulder instead, down against his arm. Noct makes a small, indecipherable noise and presses even closer to him. Ignis closes his eyes, forgetting to breathe for a moment. 

He almost pulls away, the contact suddenly overwhelming, but an image of an unconscious Noct fills his mind, stuck in that hospital bed with casts and cords and tubing all over him, body ravaged by the infection raging through it, and he stays where he is. 

* * *

A week later, he quietly lets himself into the apartment, neatly removing his shoes in the entryway before stepping further in. It's a Saturday, a rare one in which Noct's morning schedule is free, and he's probably still asleep in bed. Ignis doesn't want to wake him just yet. He goes to the kitchen, noticing the report he'd left a week earlier sitting on the table. It looks to be in the same spot Ignis had left it in, and his stomach drops. Noct's supposed to flip it over if he can't handle it, and it's not, but it doesn't look as if he's touched it, either... 

Hoping they're not stumbling into a setback, Ignis moves closer, opening the folder to see if the pages have been shuffled about any. Instead of the first page of the report he's expecting to see, there's a note on top, filled with Noct's messy scrawl. Ignis blinks at it in surprise. _I think proposal two has the most merit_ , it starts, and the rest looks to be notes on just why that is. 

"Told you I'd read it," comes a sleep-fogged voice behind him, and Ignis startles, whirling around, having never heard Noct get up. 

"You did," he agrees once the rapid beating of his heart has calmed. "Thank you, Noct. I'm quite proud of you." Noct smiles shyly at him, his cheeks flushing with pleasure at the praise, and Ignis becomes aware of the familiar fluttering of feelings in his stomach at the sight. He forces himself to turn away, swallowing hard. "What would you like for breakfast?" 

"Blueberry pancakes," Noct says immediately, then covers his mouth as a yawn overtakes him, collapsing into a seat. Ignis nods at the request, knowing he should have expected that. Noct has had a strong fondness for them ever since he was a child. "Order of blueberry pancakes coming right up," he says, and heads into the kitchen to start pulling out ingredients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, fic is over for real this time, haha. Thanks so much to all of you guys for reading! And I always welcome comments, even if it's five years later ;D


End file.
